Octave
by Hamilcar
Summary: An elderly couple dies in a car wreck, leaving their nephew alone. A rich boy runs away from home. A scientist and his wife decide to adopt. The paths of Peter, Harry and Otto converge in a rather different reality. AU.
1. Six

OOO

Sometimes, Peter Parker felt like he didn't understand the world. It made no sense to him, he thought, as he sat in the plastic chair and hugged his teddy bear. He was a good boy; he did what he was told to do by his aunt and uncle. He ate all of his vegetables, he went to bed when he was supposed to, took baths even when he didn't think he needed to and behaved in public and for his teachers.

What didn't make sense was that bad things still happened to him. A lot. When he was even littler, his mom and dad and died, though he barely remembered that time. Then, though, he'd had an aunt and uncle that he'd been sent to. So he'd figured that things were OK; he missed his mom and dad but Aunt May and Uncle Ben loved him.

Then they'd gone on vacation; Uncle Ben had saved for a long time for the trip to the Grand Canyon and Peter had really been looking forward to it. It was supposed to be fun – then the accident happened. He was sitting in the back and had been pulled out in time. But his uncle had died in the wreck, they said, and his aunt on the way to the hospital. With no relatives left and they bodies badly mutilated, the funeral had been short and quick. And he'd ended up here, brought to a home by a lady who said she was from some place called social services, with only a vague promise that they would give him his stuff from home soon.

The home was a busy place, Peter thought as he watched the other kids play. He hugged the bear tighter; he wasn't sure he liked it there. He didn't know anybody and he missed his aunt and uncle. Everything was confusing and scary and nobody seemed to notice him. He wondered if anybody would tuck him in when he went to bed. This thought brought a fresh wave of grief and he buried his face in the fur of the bear so that the other kids wouldn't see him cry. His head was still buried, so he didn't noticed the other boy walked over to him, only realizing he was there when the newcomer poked him in the shoulder.

"Hey."

Peter lifted his teary eyes to see another boy, about his age, with brown eyes and curly hair.

"Hi." Peter gave him a little nod.

"You're from New York too, aren't you?" He sat down next to Peter, who nodded.

"How'd you know?" Peter looked at the boy in wide-eyed awe while he wiped his running nose with his sleeve.

"I heard you talking when you came in. You speak like people back home." The boy picked up a truck that was at his feet and played with it. "People out here talk funny." He dropped the truck and looked at Peter. "Why are you here?" He leaned in without waiting for a response. "Don't tell anybody, but I ran away. Did you run away too?"

Peter shook his head. "My aunt and uncle died."

"Oh." The other boy's face fell. "Where are your mom and dad?"

"They died too." Peter hunched his shoulders. "But a long time ago."

The boy nodded as though he understood. "My mommy died when I was born. My dad's alive. But he doesn't love me," the boy told Peter in a matter-of-fact tone.

Peter looked at him, confused. "But he's your dad."

He shrugged. "Doesn't love me."

"He's _gotta_ though. He's your dad," he repeated.

"Lots of dads don't," the boy explained as though he thought Peter were an idiot. "That's why there are places like this. For kids whose moms and dads die or if their parents don't love them or treat them bad. They get taken away and come here."

"Oh." Peter played with the bear's ear. "How'd you get here? Aren't you from New York?"

"Took a bus." The boy stretched. "Came here. Got picked up; last driver saw I was alone. But I didn't say anything." He grinned at Peter. "Can you keep a secret?" He whispered.

Peter nodded enthusiastically; he was lonely, but this boy was from back home and he very much wanted a friend.

"My name is Harry."

"That's not a secret!" Peter frowned. "Everybody has a name!"

"Yeah, but I haven't told anybody mine. Not my _real_ one."

"You _lied?_" Peter looked slightly aghast.

"'Course I lied, silly." He stuck his tongue out. "Don't want my dad to find me. Right?"

"Oh." Peter pondered this for a moment and decided it did make sense. "So what did you tell them?"

"Lots of names," Harry said casually. "Omar and Tim and Reginald and Seamus… lots and lots. I'll tell them. Some time. But they won't know if I'm lying or not." He sounded rather proud of himself. "But you can call me by my real name." He said this as though it were a privilege.

"I'm just Peter."

Harry nodded and regarded him pensively. "You're nice," he said at last in a decisive tone. "We should be best friends," he informed Peter in a voice that made it sound as though the matter was settled. "Come on."

He took Peter by the hand and they went off to build a puzzle until it was time to go to bed.

OOO

The officer sighed in frustration as her pen hovered above her writing pad.

"I'm sure I have a picture or something." Norman Osborn rifled through his desk. "I think. Maybe."

"If it's not from the last few years it won't help much, sir. Anything is good, but they change so fast at this age the more recent the better. Did you get him finger printed?"

He looked up, aggravated. "I thought the school would take care of it, or his sitter or something."

"Well do you know what he was wearing, sir?" She pressed on.

"How should I know?" He snapped.

The detective joined her partner one frustrating and long half hour later.

"How'd it go?"

"Chalk this one up for another kid we'll be lucky to find. Just about all I got was that he has wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and is a bit shy of seven."

"That bad? The dad's rich; I would have thought there'd be a big stink over this. Reward and everything."

"No fingerprints, no photos and it's been four days since the kid went missing. Father assumed that the nanny or the butler was taking care of him, they assumed he was with the father… long story short, nobody's seen him for days. And dad seems none to eager to raise a fuss. Looks kinda bad, doesn't it, when it's four days until you notice your own kid is gone? Didn't know anything about him either. No friends, nobody at school he knows, no places he hangs out, nobody he visits – not even the playground he likes the most. The interview with the teacher wasn't a whole lot better but at least she knew some things about the poor kid."

The partner gave a low whistle. "I'll tell you, the rich – sometimes I think they live in a world all their own."

"They do." She opened the car door. "And I'll tell you, we'll do what we gotta to track this kid down – but with a dad like Norman Osborn, I don't blame him for wanting out of that world."

OOO

Harry spoke about his past only in snatches, but Peter remembered them if only because Harry's life was apparently so different from his own. He understood that Harry's dad had apparently been rich, though he didn't seem to regret leaving that. That they'd had a fight the day before Harry left, that his father blamed him for his mom's death. That Harry didn't do so well in school and his dad didn't like that much either, which didn't make sense to Peter because Harry hadn't been in school that long.

So they would agree that the nameless father was a jerk and get on with their lives. Peter would occasionally talk about his life, but it usually made him cry so Harry didn't ask very often and Peter didn't offer.

Weeks passed and then months, and they settled into a pattern. Harry looked out for Peter who was a smaller than a lot of the other boys and was picked on when they found out he was smart. Peter helped Harry do things he had trouble with like math and science and spelling; Harry said he liked Peter and the way he explained things better than the tutors at the school.

The people who ran the group home were nice enough; and since they had each other, neither minded much as other, usually younger, kids were adopted and taken away before them. But Harry could see that Peter, much more than him, missed having a mom and a dad. And he hated to see Peter unhappy.

"I'll find us somebody," he assured Peter.

"Us?" Peter looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure? People usually only take one. And they like little kids, babies."

"They'll take us," Harry replied confidently. "When we find the right ones."

Peter had his doubts; but then the Octavius couple showed up.

When they first came in, Peter and Harry had been playing outside with a soccer ball. Peter had recognized Otto Octavius from one of the science magazines that he read at the library when they got to go with their class. Harry called Peter a dork, but he'd gone back inside and approached the woman who had accompanied the scientist.

He tugged on her sleeve and when she turned around pointed to Peter who was standing in the doorway. "You should adopt Peter," he told her. "He's really smart, you would really like him."

The woman looked at him and smiled. "Well hello there. Who are you?"

"I'm Harry," he told her, smiled in a way he hoped was charming. "You could adopt me too, you know."

Her husband turned and looked at them. "Are you brothers?"

"No," he shrugged. "But I'm really nice. And I like to color. I'm good at coloring." He turned towards Otto. "Peter knows you and he likes you."

"He knows me?" The portly man laughed. "How does he know me?"

"He read about you in a magazine. Something science-y."

The man's look changed from amusement to interest and he motioned for Peter to come over. The boy hesitated, but Harry ran over and dragged him up to the couple.

"Hello, sir," Peter greeted him with a polite nod.

"Hello – Peter, right?" He held out a hand.

"Yeah." He took it and shook it carefully. "And you're Otto Octavius."

"Yes I am. Harry says you know what I do. Is that true?"

Peter nodded. "You're a really important physicist. I read about you in _Popular Science_." He blushed. "I think you're amazing."

Otto nodded. "Did you understand what was in the magazine?"

"Well… not_everything_," Peter admitted. "But it sounded really exciting. Fusion and all." He paused. "I think you'll be able to do it someday, I really do!"

"That's very flattering young man. Would you like to come inside and sit down?"

Peter nodded and they walked inside together. Otto glanced back at his wife and saw that she was deep in conversation with Harry who was eagerly trying to pull her inside with the promise of showing her artwork. They stayed for nearly three hours, getting to know the boys and talking to the people at the agency about the application, home visit and screening process.

Once they were gone, Harry winked.

"I told you. Didn't I?"

Then he pulled Peter back outside where they resumed kicking around the soccer ball. While they played, Peter thought about the afternoon. He had to admit, it looked as though Harry had been right to hope. Apart from meeting Harry, something important had actually gone right for the first time since the accident.

OOO

"Well dear?" Otto kept his eyes on the road as they drove along.

"Harry's a charming child," she laughed. "Precocious. And very creative. He and Peter seem attached at the hip. You two seemed to be getting along well too, I noticed."

Otto nodded. "The boy is bright. I'll admit, it surprised me. Especially give what he's been through. Two sets of guardians dead, he's been in the system for a few months, public schools that's been piecemeal at that. First grader but he talks like he's in middle school, easily." He gave her a brief smile. "I admit, I liked him. He's sharp and enthusiastic. Polite. Good-natured. Don't want to see a kid like that end up languishing in a home for the next decade before winding up on the streets or something."

"And Harry?"

"You would know better than I would. He warmed up to you."

"And you let Peter monopolize your time," she pointed out with a knowing smile. "Harry's very sweet. Not too sure about his situation; he's a runaway who apparently showed up the same time as Peter. The workers said they were lucky they found him before he got into any real trouble, though they had no luck finding his real family. From his interviews they suspected some type of abuse, or at least neglect, but nothing he would talk about." She looked over at Otto with a serious expression. "What are you thinking?"

"I think," Otto replied, "that getting two children out of the system is better than one. They're older too. If not us – well, chances are they won't find anybody. We could afford it, you know."

"I know. Financially at least. But do you think _we're_ ready for it?"

He pulled into their driveway, parked the car and took her hand. "I always said that you would make a marvelous mother, Rosalie. I'm sure you can give two children as much love as you could one. As for myself – I admit it would be a change. But you saw them together, how close they were. Even if they're not related, it would be a shame to break them apart."

"We'll ask for both of them?" She smiled at him.

Otto kissed her. "We'll ask for both."

OOO

A/N: A few notes. Yes, I'm well aware that I'm glossing over a few real life issues to set up the premise. Like the fact that Harry probably wouldn't have been successful. But I like the premise so... there it is. Also, I haven't decided what state they're in exactly. Somewhere between New York and Arizona. (The explanation for Otto and Rosalie being that I got the impression they lived elsewhere before the events of the second movie).

And it probably will be P/H so the rating will eventually go up. Unless the quasi-Ockcest really squicks everybody out. But they're not really related. Again... there it is.

Comments are more than welcome as are thoughts, suggestions, what have you. Yell at me if you feel like (I know I don't write children as well as I should). Hope you enjoyed and you can look forward to more soon, including sequels, other long fics and probably a one-shot based on USM 117 (which just about broke my heart). Keep an eye out and more fic will be forthcoming.


	2. Seven

OOO

The afternoon, many weeks later, that Otto and Rosalie finally came to pick them up and take them home for good, Harry and Peter entered the car to find two wrapped packages in the backseat, labeled with their names. While Peter was methodically picking the tape off of his and unfolding the paper, Harry tore into his present, revealing a sleeping bag, Harry's green and Peter's blue.

"Cool. Are we going camping?" He poked the fabric with his finger.

"Maybe sometime," Otto smiled as he got into the car. "But those are for tonight, just in case we don't get your rooms finished."

"We thought about furnishing your rooms," Rosalie explained, "but then we decided that you two are big boys so you would probably prefer to decorate your rooms yourselves and get the furniture you wanted."

"I want a race car bed!" Harry shouted. "With Batman sheets!"

"I think we could manage that." Otto grinned, first at his wife, then at the boys. "And what would you like Peter?"

The boy shrugged. "I'm ok with anything."

"Come on." Harry poked him. "What about Star Wars? You like Star Wars. I bet they have Star Wars stuff."

Again, he shrugged and Rosalie looked at him sympathetically. He was so used to accepting what he got without complaining that he was reluctant to accept such gestures from adults, even when freely offered.

"We _want_ to do this Peter," she reassured him. "We're going to be a family and we will do the best we can to make you happy."

Peter considered this for a moment then looked at her. "Do we call you mom and dad now? 'Steada Otto and Rosie?"

She smiled. "You call us whatever you're comfortable with."

Slowly, he nodded, and then looked back at her with concerned eyes. "Ros… mom? You said rooms." He chewed his lip. "Harry and I won't have a room together?"

"No dear, you get your own rooms. Why? Don't you want a room all for yourself?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "Harry and I always shared a room. Well, us and lots of boys. But how will I get to sleep with Harry all the way in another room?"

"Peter's going to be in another room?" Harry looked up now, upset. "Why?"

Rosalie looked mildly surprised. "We thought you would want your own space. You are getting older." Seeing that they were still upset, she looked at them sympathetically. "But there will be room for your sleeping bags if you want to spend time in each others rooms."

Harry looked over at Peter and rubbed his hair. "See? We'll be OK."

For the first time during the ride, Peter managed a smile and started to relax. "Can I get the top of my room painted with stars? Glow in the dark?"

"Might take a bit of effort but I think I could manage that," Otto told him with a nod.

"I want stars too!" Harry chimed in. "And can we get posters? And a toy box? And can I have a TV in my room?"

"Harry!" Peter looked at him, a bit abashed that Harry was asking for so much.

"Please?" Harry finished, blushing a little bit.

"No promises, but I'll do what I can."

OOO

Later that night, they laid out their sleeping bags next to one another in the Octavius' living room. A variety of boxes holding yet-to-be-assembled furniture were lying about and the faint scent of fresh paint came wafting down the hall from the rooms. Otto assured them that the base would be dry by the next day and their rooms would be ready to have things moved into them by the late afternoon. While he went off to wash off the paint, Rosalie cleared the table of the remains of the McDonald's dinner they'd bought for the boys and went over to where Peter and Harry were snuggling down into the sleeping bags.

"So what would you like me to read for you on your first night here?" She asked them. "Unless you're too big for a bedtime story."

"I like stories," Peter replied softly.

Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well, I _guess_," he said. "If it's a good story. You have good stories, right?"

"I think I could find a good one." She held up a book with a cover of mountains and trees bearing the title _The Hobbit_. "Have you heard this one?"

"I love that story!" Peter burst out, then settled back down. "But if you would rather hear something different…"

"It's OK," Harry grinned and shrugged. "Never read it," he said by way of an explanation. "Peter told me 'bout it. But maybe if you read it…"

"Well then, if you've never heard it and Peter wants to hear it again, I'd be glad to begin."

She had barely gotten to the run-in with the trolls when she looked up to see that the two boys were fast asleep and snoring lightly. Shutting the covers, she set the book on the table and covered each with an extra blanket from the couch, giving each as kiss as she did. When she turned towards the hallway, she saw her husband standing in the doorframe.

"Sleeping?" He whispered.

"Yes," She replied and shut the lights off. "A good first night, I would say. How are the rooms shaping up?"

"Very well, actually." He gave her a wry smile. "A shame that those prototypes we were sketching out at work aren't a reality. If they were the job would be going a lot faster."

She laughed. "Bit of a frivolous use of the technology wouldn't you say?"

He took her in to his arms and kissed her. "Well who says I can't bring my work home with me on occasion?" He sighed. "But, since I only have two arms and not six, I suppose I'll have to settle for working at the pace I'm working at."

"I'm sure the boys will love it no matter how long it takes to get done."

"The constellations will be accurate, you know," he told her with a touch of pride.

"Oh?"

"That's right. Peter's will be the northern hemisphere during summer and Harry's will be the southern hemisphere during autumn."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Well you are nothing if not thorough dear."

"It's what makes me a good scientist." He kissed her forehead. "Since it has been a long day for us as well as the boys – shall we retire, Mrs. Octavius?" He smiled.

"Remember darling," she teased. "There are children in the house now."

He laughed lightly as he followed her into the master bedroom, being careful all the while not to disturb Peter or Harry.

OOO

The next day, while Otto continued to paint the rooms, Peter and Harry helped Rosalie to build the bookshelf that they'd bought for Peter's room. They held the boards in place while Rosie tapped in the nails, thanking them both for being such a big help. Once the light work was finished, she nodded for them to go off and play while she finished up. They sat by the bay windows playing Uno while Rosie began laundering the new linens they'd purchased.

"Well boys, want to come and see how your new rooms look?" Otto came in and asked as Rosalie was loading everything into the dryer.

"Yeah!" Harry jumped up and pulled Peter down the hallway to see how they rooms looked.

"Coming?" Otto asked Rosie.

"Of course." She shut the door after throwing in a few dryer sheets and turned it on before accompanying her husband into the two newly painted rooms.

"Wow!" Harry stared up at the ceiling of his. "This looks awesome!"

"Glad you approve." Otto smiled as Harry turned and gave him a hug.

"Thanks dad!"

"And what do you think Peter?" He asked the boy who stepped out of his own room and peeked into Harry's.

"It's right," he said with a smile. "The stars, I mean. They're in the right places."

"Sharp," Otto remarked with a glance at Rosie.

"Is mine right too?" Harry looked up at him.

"Indeed it is. And I'll bet that before long, you'll be able to name every one of the constellations up there."

Harry grinned again and hugged him more tightly.

"So," Otto began when he finally loosened his grip, "shall we start on the beds?"

By the end of the day, the empty rooms were filled with beds and bookshelves, dressers and desks, toys and posters. Peter's room had a large periodic table framed and mounted on one wall while Harry's had an easel in the corner. Each had a matching desk with notebooks and school supplies for when they enrolled in the local grade school. Peter's shelves were already lined with a few books he'd had since his days of living with the Parkers while Harry's were stacked with the games they'd gotten and action figures.

They each explored their rooms and one another's, peeking into drawers and poking around the closets, until Rosie called them to the table for dinner. That evening she'd made a pot roast; while the boys devoured it, Otto promised them that he would be cooking the next night and that he hoped they would like his meal just as much.

And for the moment all was well.

OOO

Three weeks into their new lives, Otto and Rosalie found themselves called into the principle's office for the fourth time. Harry was sitting there, just as he'd been the last few times, arms crossed and looking at the floor.

"Fighting again?" Rosalie asked quietly.

"Yeah," he grumbled.

She knelt in front of him while Otto took the seat beside him. "The principle told us that you punched a boy in the face, Harry. Knocked him down and bruised him up."

"He wouldn't leave Peter alone," Harry retorted. "Again. He just wanted to read during recess and he wouldn't leave him alone!"

"Why didn't you get the teacher?" She asked in a gentle tone. "The teacher can help you work it out if he's being mean to Peter."

"I'm not a tattle," Harry protested. "And Randy wouldn't care; he'd just go back to doing it once she was gone."

She sighed. "Harry, you mustn't keep doing this. Fighting won't solve all your problems. Can you promise me you'll try not to do this? To not hurt other boys, even if they're being mean to Peter or to you?"

Nervously he looked from Rosie to Otto. "You're mad at me," he said at last, faintly accusing. "You want to give me back, don't you?"

"We're not mad," Rosie insisted. "A bit disappointed perhaps – we know you can be more grown-up – but we're not mad. And we _certainly_ don't want to give you back."

"That's right," Otto added, setting a hand on Harry's diminutive shoulder. "I understand how you feel. And it's a credit to you that you care about Peter so much, that you want to help him. But you cannot go around punching everybody who says something that makes you upset." He gave Harry a rueful smile. "The world wouldn't be a very good place if everybody acted like that, now would it?"

"I still don't like it," he muttered. "They're always being mean to Peter. They laugh every time he raises his hand and whisper behind his back and nobody but me plays with him. With _us_," he added, frowning. "I hate school!"

"Oh, Harry, you don't mean that." Rosie rubbed his hand. "You need time to get used to it, to let the kids gets used to you. I'm sure they'll come around."

"Hnh." He made a derisive sound then looked at Otto, then back at Rosie. "They say other stuff too you know."

"Like what?" Otto asked in a guarded tone.

"Say that we can't be brothers. Peter said that we were adopted and all the kids thought it was weird and said things about it. That Peter's family didn't want him, that mine didn't want me."

"Harry, you know that isn't true," Rosie told him firmly.

"Not for Peter. And anyway it doesn't make it hurt any less," he replied.

Following that they had a conference with the principle in which they were warned in the strictest terms to bet Harry's behavior under control. Rosalie nodded and agreed to try, noticing Otto grow more agitated all the while. As Harry headed back to class and they went out to the car, he turned to her and snapped.

"I don't like it, Rosie."

"Otto…"

"They go blaming Harry?" He slammed the door. "For what? Sticking up for Peter when nobody else is going to do anything about it?" He started the car. "I'm starting to think that this was a mistake."

"The boys?" She sounded stunned.

"Public school," he rejoined. "Peter's talents will never be appreciated, will never be encouraged in a place like that. I know what we discussed," he said, cutting her off as she went to speak. "And I know we thought that it might make them more comfortable at first. That it would be a supposedly more 'normal' setting.

"But if it's going to be a decade more of this, I'd rather pull them out now, send them somewhere better. Somewhere where they might at least find some encouragement for their talents."

Rosie looked at her husband with a sympathetic look. Early in their relationship he'd discussed his own rather alienated childhood; it was no wonder, then, that he would be particularly sensitive about any teasing that Peter encountered and accepting of anything Harry did to stop the mocking or pay it back.

Even so, she worried about them growing up too fast and losing out on childhood. Otto was a marvelous scientist but he needed to be reminded from time to time that there was more to life, and to child-raising, than simply encouraging talent and promoting ability. Besides, teasing and untoward remarks could occur anywhere; the boys needed to learn how to deal with it, she thought, not run away from it.

"Please. Give them some time. At least another few weeks?"

He sighed. "For you, dear."

By the end of the month, Peter had come home in tears twice and Harry had been given three more detentions. Otto pressed, Harry pleaded and Peter backed away from the conflict until eventually Rosie threw up her hands. Peter ended up in an academy, placed two grades higher than he'd been at the public school, while Harry transferred to a magnet school that focused on the arts. At first they were apprehensive about not going to school together. But they managed to find others not unlike themselves and enjoyed their new schools despite the absence of the other.

If anything, Otto and Rosalie noticed, it brought the two closer when they were at home together. Despite the initial turmoil, they fell into a pattern of family life, settling in and becoming comfortable with one another. Peter became gradually more sociable, Harry became slowly more tractable and both moved from seeing Otto and Rosie as benevolent heroes bringing them up out of state care to parents that they could talk to, fight with, tease, play with and ultimately trust.

Even so, there were times when the conversation drifted too far into the past and the boys fell silent. Peter talked more frequently as he grew more at ease, but always with Harry there was reluctance that his parents puzzled over. Whatever had happened was not, as far as they could tell, sexual or physically violent; yet he never willingly discussed much of anything that had happened before he met Peter, especially in particular terms.

The past was dead and buried, and as far as Harry was concerned, it was better if it stayed that way.

OOO

A/N: Once again, a lot of foundation laying. And yeah… for some reason I always tend to see Harry as artistically gifted in some way, in opposition to Peter being scientifically gifted. It's Peter David's novelization of the third movie influencing me I suppose. So there's that. And I threw in a few hints thrown in of things to come. ;) There's still another chapter or two before everybody winds up in New York. The first few chapters won't be continuous but will rather be a set of snapshots, showing the development of their relationships before everything begins to change.

Hope you enjoyed; there's more to come.


	3. Nine

OOO

The moment Rosie pulled into the driveway and let Harry out of the car, he charged up the driveway and into the house, waving a packet of paper. The door slammed behind him as he kicked off his shoes and slid into the kitchen.

"I got the part!" He shouted, pointing enthusiastically to the script in his hand.

Otto looked away from the carrots he was chopping up and gave Harry a quick hug. "That's great!" He smiled down at him. "Now refresh my memory – what exactly were you trying out for?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Remember? I told you, the high school is doing a production of _Les Mis_ and they needed a couple of kids, a boy and a girl, to play the parts of Gavroche and young Cosette. They were auditioning kids from all over the place but I got the part!" He ran to the stairwell. "I'm going to tell Peter!"

Rosalie followed and entered the room a moment later. "So what's for dinner tonight?"

"I'm afraid you have to wait until it's on the table dear," he teased her with a wink.

She gave him a smile and kissed him on the cheek. "I suppose if you're getting dinner ready, I could start tackling that huge pile of grass-stained laundry that's waiting to be done."

"Only if you want our children to be well clothed."

She smiled and started to sort uniform polo shirts from dirt-smeared jeans.

OOO

Upstairs, Harry charged into Peter's room and slapped the script down on top of the homework Peter was doing.

"I got the role!" He shouted again, shaking Peter's shoulders.

"That's great Harry!" Peter twisted in the chair and grinned. "I wish you hadn't thrown it all over my algebra homework, but that's great! Getting into a production at the HSPVA – that's a big deal!"

"Tell me about it. And… all over your what?" Harry picked up the script and looked down at what Peter was writing. "Ok, that looks like math, but there are _letters_."

"That's right." Peter straightened up the papers Harry had disheveled. "Letters."

"And _why_ are there letters?"

"Because they stand for unknowns that I need to solve for. Sometimes. Later they can stand for other things – like _i_ for imaginary numbers."

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, Pete, I think you're talking a whole other language. I'll take my math letter-free, thanks." He poked Peter. "You can do the letters and fake numbers and whatever else it is you do."

"You'll have to do it to someday," Peter grinned, twisting so that Harry couldn't poke him.

"Well maybe I won't. Maybe I'll drop out of school and work in the theater district. Or painting. I'll set up an easel and paint stuff to sell to tourists."

"Good luck with_that_," Peter laughed.

"Hey! It could happen. And speaking of acting, can you help me practice lines after dinner?"

"Sure, no problem. Dad's cooking tonight, right?"

"Yup. I think he's making pork chops or something. I could smell them baking."

"Awesome."

Harry stretched out on Peter's bed and started to read through his lines. "Can I have a highlighter, Pete?" Looking up from his calculations, Peter tossed him a green one from his pencil cup. "Thanks," he said, beginning to mark his passages.

Peter turned to Harry. "You know, I think dad wants to take us to the arboretum on Saturday. He was saying something about it after he picked me up from school."

"Cool." Harry looked up from his script. "Did we ever get those pictures from the natural science museum developed?"

"Yeah, mom took care of that a couple days ago. Still have to put them in an album though. And speaking of which – what kind of a costume will you be wearing for the play?"

Harry grinned at him, knowing what Peter was referring to. Peter loved to watch acting, even if he wasn't very good at it himself, and kept a scrapbook of Harry in all his performances, in costume backstage and performing on the stage, when it was allowed.

"Grubby," he laughed. "I'm a street kid. And yes, before you ask, you can take pictures."

"Awesome!"

"You and that camera." Harry shook his head. "Just don't go around trying to snap the other actors though. They're high school kids; they'll probably get annoyed." He tossed aside the script and flipped over, looking up at the constellations on the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm going to be in a high school production!"

"Well I'll bet you're going to be fantastic."

"'Course I am," he laughed with a touch of arrogance. "I'm _always _fantastic."

"Kids!" Rosalie's voice came up from downstairs. "Dinner!"

The two exchanged looks.

"Race you!" Harry declared eagerly, jumping off the bed as Peter scrambled for the door.

OOO

A few weeks after getting the role, Harry woke up on Thursday morning with a fever of 102 and a nasty cough that made his chest ache. The moment Rosie saw him come down the steps, breathing hard and looking pale, she felt his head then toted him back upstairs while Otto watched Peter finish his breakfast and took him to school before heading into work.

Setting him down and inserting a thermometer into his mouth, Rosie tucked in the edges of his blanket and looked at him in concern.

"You're burning up!" She gasped. "I'd better call Dr. Sanderson. And your school, I'll let them know you won't be coming in today."

"But I have rehearsal," he protested. "And choir practice. And we're supposed to be making collages today."

"That will have to wait, Harry. Now you get some rest while I make those calls." She stood up. "Besides the fever, are you hurting anywhere else? Are you stuffed up, anything like that?"

"I…" his sentence broke off into a fit of hacking and she sighed.

"That answers that. I'll be back in a moment, dear." She kissed his overheated forehead then went to fetch her cell phone, returning with it and a glass of water for Harry moments later.

He sipped the water then laid back and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her voice.

"…and his temperature is about a hundred and he has this cough that sounds absolutely terrible. You can fit us in at two? We'll be there." There was a beep and the sound of more dialing. "Longfellow Elementary? Hello, this is Rosalie Octavius, Harry's mother? Harry is feeling rather under the weather; he won't be coming in today."

Her voiced faded in and out as he heard her talk about something going around and assured the secretary that they would try to get him up to full speed as soon as possible. She snapped the phone shut and Harry felt her hand across his forehead then touching his cheek.

"Are you alright?" She murmured. "We're going to the doctor's at two, sweetie, but you can rest for now."

"Gotta call the high school too…" he frowned.

"I'll take care of it dear." She patted his hand then went to fetch a chair for herself and a wastepaper basket for Harry, just in case.

When she came back, Harry looked at her and coughed. When he could finally speak again, he sat up and turned to her. "When we go to the doctor's office, are there going to be needles?"

"There might be." She nodded sympathetically.

"I hate needles." He sank back down into his pillow.

"I'll be right there for you. Be brave and you'll be better before you know it."

He nodded and reached for the water before falling back asleep as she watched by his side.

OOO

"How is he?" Otto asked the moment he came through the door, seeing Rosie at the stove boiling water.

"Is Harry ok?" Peter pushed past him.

Rosie heaved a sigh. "He has bacterial pneumonia. I was just making us some tea then I was going to go up and sit with him again." She looked at Peter. "Peter? Has Harry been complaining of anything over the past few days? A cough, a running nose, anything like that?"

Peter shifted guiltily. "He was coughing a little. But not _that_ much. And he was a bit hot but it wasn't bad." He blushed. "Didn't want you to know. I promised not to tell 'cause he said you'd probably make him stay home. He didn't want you to worry, told me it wasn't that bad."

Taking the kettle off the stove and setting it aside, Rosie walked over to Peter and set a hand on his shoulder. "You need to tell us these things, sweetie, OK?"

Peter frowned. "But Harry asked…"

"I know he did. But it's not good to keep secrets like this from us. Harry might not know how serious something is and might need to see a doctor. Alright? He could be really sick but not know it."

The boy looked at her like he might cry. "Is Harry going to _die_?"

Rosie shook her head and smoothed his hair. "No, Peter. We took him to the doctor's and got him some antibiotics so if he takes those and gets some rest he'll be good as new."

"Can I see him?"

"The doctor said it wasn't too contagious, so yes, I suppose you can. Just don't get_too _close or drink from the same cup or anything like that. Would you like to help me take Harry's tea up to him?"

"Ok!" Peter got the steaming cup of water and dropped a tea bag in for Harry. It smelled of oranges and he breathed in the steam as he walked up right behind Rosie.

Once they reached the bedrooms, she knocked on his door lightly before stepping inside. "Harry? You have a visitor."

"Pete!" He smiled and gave a wave before coughing again.

Rosie went over and checked on the room's humidifier while Peter handed Harry the tea.

"Are you feeling OK?" Peter's eyes radiated concern.

Harry gave a little shrug. "Coughing up a lot. And the doctor gave me medicine to take. But I get to take the Tylenol grape chewable tablets too." He smiled. "So at least those taste good."

Peter cracked a smile too and his shoulders slumped in relief. There was another knock at the door and Peter turned to see their father their, holding his own cup of tea. He walked over to Rosie who was sitting again and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Why don't you take a break, dear? You've been watching him all day." He turned to Peter. "And you'd better wash your hands now, just to be sure you don't catch it."

"Be right back!" Peter ran off to the bathroom down the hall while Rosie stood and offered Otto her seat.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" She asked.

"Feel free to order in or get something for car-side pickup," he replied. "I'm sure you've had a long day."

She nodded before going downstairs.

"So," he addressed Harry, "is the tea helping any?"

He gave him a nod and a smile. "Makes my throat feel more open."

"Good, good." Otto leaned in. "Peter tells us you've been coughing for a few days but you didn't want us to know."

Harry looked down into his tea. "Are you mad?" He mumbled.

"Not mad; only worried. You know you can trust us. And if you're sick, we need to know. OK? Even if you have to miss school or practice – it's alright to be sick once in a while."

He took a drink and shrugged. "I didn't want you to think I was whining or making excuses. I'm not supposed to make excuses. Besides, you and mom are busy and don't have time for little things like this."

"If you're really sick, we wouldn't think that." He paused and looked at him. "Harry? Is this about your biological father?" He asked in a reluctant tone, not sure if the boy would tell him anything.

Again, he shrugged. "Every time I got sick he said that it wasn't so bad and that I could tough it out. That the real world was too busy for excuses like a little cough." He looked at Otto. "When I got the chicken pox he didn't even stay home."

"I'm sorry." Harry had another coughing fit and Otto offered him a tissue and thumped his back to break up the mucus, then held out the basket for Harry to throw the tissue away. "Like we told Peter, though, we need to know if you're not feeling well, in case it is serious. It might not be and probably won't be most times, but we still need to know. So no more secrets, alright?"

"Okay," Harry promised, though Otto realized when he did that Harry's promise likely didn't extend to giving them any concrete details about where he came from.

Peter returned then, holding a video. "Dad? Can Harry and I watch a movie or does he have to stay in bed?"

"He needs rest but a little moving around should be alright." He smiled. "Do you want to watch a movie with Peter?"

Harry brightened up and smiled at Peter. "Yeah!" He stood up shakily, still holding his tea and Otto followed them downstairs, taking the tissues and the humidifier.

After setting them up, he gave Harry a blanket to curl up under while Peter turned on the television and put in _The Wrath of Khan_ for the millionth time.

OOO

Months later, Peter and Harry relaxed in Peter's room, having returned from a dinner out with their parents following Harry's final performance. They stretched out on the floor, a scrapbook and a pile of photos from an earlier performance spread out before them.

Peter's face was screwed up into an expression of concentration as he carefully picked at the edges of some paper backing until it came away from the photo tabs he was using.

"Did you get some good ones?" Harry leaned over his shoulder to look.

"Think so. It was really looooong, though."

Harry laughed. "I told you! And like I said – I didn't even show up until the second act. You could have slept until then for all I cared."

"Yeah, and miss out completely on what was going on." Peter carefully lined up and matted a photograph of Harry in costume, then glued it onto the page and rummaged through a box of picture embellishments to find a French flag.

"But you liked it? Thought I was good?"

"Yeah." He smiled and looked up from the book. "I did. You were even better than when you were in _Sound of Music_ at the summer stock program."

Harry picked up a Rubik's cube from Peter's desk and fiddled with it. "When I get older, I want to play Enjolras."

"Who?"

"The guy in the red vest. The one who got shot."

"You got shot too," Peter laughed. "You know, you're pretty good at the dying thing."

"Gee thanks," Harry rolled his eyes. "Some brother you are, telling me how good I am at getting shot and dying."

"It was a compliment!"

Peter stood up and grabbed the cube from Harry, twisted it a few times, and handed it back to him, solved. Harry rolled his eyes and set it down.

"Showoff."

"Think mom would be up for a game of Scrabble before bed?"

"Isn't she always? Come on. And bring the scrapbook. I'm sure they'll want to see what you've done with it."

OOO

A/N: Ah, clichéd situations. But they can be fun. Also, the hints are subtle but I decided (rather randomly) that they're living in Houston (so all the schools referenced are real). Otto can be working for NASA. Or something. Anyway, apologies for any inaccuracies to those of you who live in or are familiar with the area. Plus, their house is now magically two stories instead of one. Somehow.

The chapter titles for the first few parts are the ages of Peter and Harry in that chapter, meaning a few years will be skipped. So no worries – they'll get to NYC soon enough. Probably two chapters – so for those of you looking ahead, the next chapter will be them at twelve and then at fifteen. I'm still a bit iffy on whether or not to do the pairing but the action will be set in motion soon enough (although I'm sure a few significant plot points are guessable by now ;) ).


	4. Eleven

OOO

"Bet I got more!"

"Harry, wait for me!"

Rosalie spun around as Batman ran past her followed by a fireman. Otto stumbled in a moment later, looking exhausted.

"Rough night?" She laughed.

"You have no idea." He sank into a chair. "It's a madhouse out there!"

"I know; they've been showing up at our door too, you know. I ran out of the mini candy bars and the candy corn packets are almost depleted too. It's a good thing everybody stopping coming around nine."

"I'll say. I don't think I could have lasted another half-hour."

"Well, did you at least make sure to check all the candy? Because I think the wolves are about to tear into it."

"Not yet. They're supposed to bring it back down so that I can – and incidentally count it too," he grimaced. There was a pounding of footsteps and he sighed. "And speaking of the boys…"

"Mine weighs the most!" Peter yelled triumphantly.

"Only because you always take all that stupid fruit and it weighs more. I'll bet I have more pieces!" Harry rolled his eyes and ran up to the table, dumping his bag out in front of Otto. "Count mine, dad!"

"Mine too!" Peter poured his in a pile at the other end of the table.

"Count mine first?" Harry pleaded.

"Why yours first?" Peter glared at him.

"Tell you what," Rosie interrupted. "How about dad counts yours, Harry, and I'll count Peter's?" She glanced from one to the other. "Does that work?"

"Ok!" Harry pulled Peter. "Let's go watch _Nightmare Before Christmas_!"

"Can we have candy?" Peter asked Rosie.

"As soon as we've counted and checked it, we'll bring it in to you," she promised.

"But not too much," Otto warned. "It's a school night. And all that candy isn't good for your teeth."

"We'll brush extra hard, promise. Come on Pete!"

"I want popcorn – can I make popcorn?"

"It's in the cupboard," Rosie replied, inspecting a Snicker's bar. "Remember, only set the microwave for two minutes or it will burn."

"And soda, too?" Harry asked.

"That much sugar on top of the candy?" Otto raised an eyebrow.

"It's Halloween, dear," Rosalie admonished. "Only for one night. Go right ahead," she told Harry.

"Sweet!"

The movie was already playing when the Octavius parents entered the room with the two sacks of candy.

"Who got more?" Peter looked up at Rosie.

"By a count of 117 to 93, Harry did." She smiled as they set down the candy in front of them before heading back into the kitchen.

"Told you!" Harry grinned, opening his bag and rummaging through the pieces.

"Can I have your caramels?" Peter asked. "I'll give you all my Milky Ways."

"Yeah, but only if they're not the dark chocolate kind. Can I trade you all your mini KitKats for my Mr. Goodbars?"

"Okay."

"You can keep the apples, though," Harry remarked and took a swig of Pepsi. "And you can have these."

"What? The Mary Janes?"

"Yeah, they're gross. I don't know anybody who eats them."

"I like them!" Peter unwrapped one and chewed on it defensively.

"Why's that?" Harry crammed his mouth full of candy corn and chewed.

"Gross." Peter wrinkled his nose. "A girl named Mary Jane lived next to me. She was really pretty."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "That's dumb. Doesn't make it taste better." He opened up a pack of M&Ms and began inhaling them as well.

"Well I like peanut butter so I think they taste good," Peter sniffed.

Harry shrugged. "Whatever. Do you want those gummy bears?"

"Have 'em. Don't touch the pixie stix though!"

"Wasn't going to!"

They pushed the pile around on the table, sorting and making trades as they went and only stopping every now and again to start up a loud chorus of 'This is Halloween,' jumping around and bringing Rosie into the room to warn them to settle down. When she came in an hour later, she found them passed out amidst a pile of candy wrappers and soda cans, bits of popcorn on their chests, the floor and the cushions.

She sighed while Otto walked in behind her.

"You get the boys and I'll get the vacuum?" She suggested.

"Sounds fair to me."

OOO

"I get to see where you work?" Peter gasped. He knew that his Dad's job was very important and that kids weren't supposed to be around it. There were too many delicate instruments and it wasn't supposed to be open to the public.

It was his birthday, however.

"Just this once," Otto winked. "Besides, I'm working on something very special that I think you would appreciate."

He guided him past the guards down to his lab, nodding at the co-workers who passed by them, most smiling at Peter. Peter, however, was looking all around, trying to soak it all in before he had to leave. At each turn he asked questions about who did what and what each person was working on, what each machine was for and what they did in each laboratory.

When they reached Otto's, he punched a code in and the doors slid open. Peter practically bounded into the room and looked around, still wide-eyed.

"Over here." Otto motioned for him to come over to a long lab table where various metal parts were scattered about with two long arms already assembled.

"These are what you've been working on, aren't they?"

"Mechanical arms? Yes. These are only prototypes. But soon the actual arms themselves will be able to be constructed, fully flexible with highly sensitive actuators on the ends. The real beauty though it this." He walked over to a computer and punched up a program.

"The operating system?" Peter whispered in an awed voice.

"More than that. We're intending for it to work on the basis of thought, using electrical impulses from the brain running through nanowires. It's only in its beginning stages, but when it's done it will be as close to true AI as anything I've seen."

"Do you think that will be soon?"

"I hope. Still probably years away; it's very advanced and I won't lie, we've had quite a few difficulties along the way. But when they're finished they should be able of assisting in the fusion process, able to handle and manipulate materials involved." He smiled down at the boy. "I wanted you to see this before anybody else outside the lab, to get a glimpse of what the future might hold."

"Wow…" He looked to Otto. "I want to become a scientist as fast as I can! Then I can be there and help you out! I want to be there, dad. Do you think I can?"

Otto smiled and clasped his shoulder. "No promises. But if you continue to work hard, for as long as this will probably take – I could see you working by my side one day, Peter."

"Good." Peter leaned against him. "That way, we can always be together."

Otto doubted if always was possible or if it would be something the boy would even want when he was older. For now, however, it was a perfect moment. He spent the next hour introducing Peter to various colleagues and giving him a guided tour of the lab, answering each of the questions the eager boy put to him in turn.

As they drove home, however, Peter sobered.

"Dad? Can we do something before we go home?"

"If it doesn't take too long; you mother and Harry are probably waiting with dinner and your cake," he smiled.

He fidgeted and took a breath. "I want to get some flowers for Aunt May and Uncle Ben."

Otto's face grew serious and he nodded. "I understand. I know a florist a couple blocks over from the city cemetery. We can pick up whatever you would like there and then head over to visit your aunt and uncle."

Peter gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"Of course, Peter. Any time."

OOO

"Oh! Look at this dear!"

Dr. Connors looked up from the tests he was grading. "What is it?"

"It's a Christmas card from Otto and Rosalie!" She unfolded the paper. "And look! It came with a picture of their boys."

"What does it say?" He made a series of red marks on one exam's multiple choice section.

"She says that Otto is pleased with his work and is making progress on the tools he hopes will help with his fusion research – though he's doing routine research as well with the others in the lab. Peter is accelerating – she really thinks you would like him. Rosie says he's still pretty quiet, still a bit timid, but that he loves working on experiments at home with Otto and that he won a science prize at his school. He even was on a math team of some sort there, won a trophy with three other kids. And he loves the camera that Otto gave him, takes it everywhere, snapping pictures of everything.

"Harry is as rambunctious as ever although Rosie says that they're still a bit anxious about him. Whenever he gets into trouble she says that he still worries about being 'given back' but she thinks its starting to get a bit better. He got a big role in the last play he was in and the choir at his school had a big holiday recital and he had a solo! Isn't that lovely, dear?" She smiled at him. "They vacationed down by the gulf this past summer after the boys came back from camp and they're planning to have a New Years Eve party with some of Otto's co-workers."

With a sigh she sat down across from Curt and looked the letter over again.

"It sounds like things are going very well for them. We should try to meet them some time you know. It's been ages – both our boys are getting so big, they'll be teenagers before we get to meet them! And I'm sure Billy would love to get to know Peter and Harry. Do you want to see the picture they sent?"

He set down the red pen and reached for the photograph with his single arm. Two boys in winter sweaters grinned up out of the photo; when he saw it, however, Curtis frowned.

"Which one is which again?"

"Goodness, Curtis, they might both have brown hair and eyes but they don't look that much alike!" She leaned over and pointed to one then the other. "That's Peter and that's Harry. Why?"

"Harry looks familiar. Somehow. I just can't place it."

"Well, you saw a picture of him a few years back, after they first got the boys…"

"Not what I mean." He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm simply tired."

"You've been grading those papers all night," she pointed out, taking his hand. "Come on. Come to bed and then we can get up early tomorrow to decorate the tree. Besides, it's the weekend. You have two days to grade them before you have to calculate final grades."

"You're right I suppose." She guided him up the stairs. "I still wish I could pinpoint why that boy looks so familiar!"

"Don't worry about it," she laughed. "I'm sure it's nothing. A touch of déjà vu, nothing more."

"Probably. Let's get some rest and I'll feel fresher in the morning."

"Good," she grinned. "Because I think Billy is going to want to go shopping for a real tree."

"What's wrong with the artificial one we have?"

"It's _artificial_," she pointed out with a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll think about it. And I suppose we should take a picture too, to send to the Octavius family. Feel a bit embarrassed now that we neglected to include them on our Christmas card list."

"You might have," she winked. "But I didn't. Sent one two weeks back."

OOO

"You're not going to make it," Harry teased as the two sat on Harry's bed, watching the bright red digits of the clock slowly tick by. Rosalie had offered to set up a TV in Harry's room for the night so that they could watch the Dick Clark party and see the ball drop in Times Square, but Harry declined as he always did and Peter didn't press the issue.

"I'll make it…!" Peter's sentence ended with a massive yawn.

"Yeah, right," Harry laughed. "It's barely past eleven!"

"Well you keep closing your eyes!" Peter accused, trying to suppress another yawn.

"I can do it." He rubbed his eyes quickly. "I know I will."

They went back to watching the clock.

"Hey, Harry?" Peter interrupted the silence.

"Yeah?"

"You know that party you went to a couple days ago?"

"What? The cast party?"

"That one."

"What about it?" Harry rubbed his eyes again.

"You like those kids, right?" Peter looked at him

"Well, yeah. We've been in a lot of shows together. I like 'em. Like you like the kids you have study group with or are with you in math competitions."

"Yeah, but I still like you best. You… you like me better than them, right?" Peter sounded worried.

"Pete?"

"I mean, I'm still your best friend right?"

"You're my brother!" Harry said, as though it were obvious.

"But my best friend too, _right?_"

"Of course," Harry laughed, slinging an arm around Peter. "That's what being brothers means."

"Good." Peter leaned back onto the bed. "Because I thought maybe… maybe you thought I was boring now. That I was just a dork now that you have all kinds of friends at your school."

"I still think you're a dork." He mussed Peter's hair and stretched out too. "But I still like you best. I'll _always_ like you best."

Their parents came up after the toast was done and the guests had left to find them sleeping, neither having made it to midnight.

OOO

A/N: Some holiday goodness along with foreshadowing aplenty! And I'm altering the chapter/ages a bit from what I intended last time. Not sure if I'll do 11-13-15 or just 11-14. Depends on how I want to space it out. But you'll have to wait until next chapter to find out – hopefully this one can tide you over for now.


	5. Fourteen

OOO

"Harry!" Peter screamed and pounded on the door to the bathroom. "Harry, what are you doing in there? You've been in there over half an hour!"

"Taking a shower!"

"The water stopped running five minutes ago. Come on, open up!"

"I can't – I'm still doing my hair!"

"You're always doing your hair, it takes you a million years to do it – come on, let me in!"

"What do you need?"

"I need the aloe– my shoulders are _killing_ me."

The door swung open, revealing Harry, dressed in boxers and a cotton robe. "You should have been more careful putting on sunscreen before you went swimming yesterday."

"I don't need a lecture from you." He rolled his eyes and opened the medical cabinet while Harry tried to edge him over and look in the mirror. Peter slathered the green lotion on his shoulders while Harry worked in mousse and raked it through his curls.

"Do you need me to get your back?" He asked Peter, giving his hair a quick shot of hairspray before rinsing his hands off.

"Would you?" He handed the bottle off. "Thanks."

"Dang! It's really peeling." Harry poured it into his hands and smeared. "It's kinda gross."

"Well thank you for your opinion."

Harry laughed and gave Peter's shoulder's a quick squeeze after he'd worked in the aloe. "Feel better now?"

"A little."

"I wouldn't be surprised if this takes a while. We were out there for what, four, five hours? If you were burning all that time…"

"I don't even want to think about it." Peter groaned as he buttoned up his shirt and followed Harry into his room.

As soon as they entered, Harry struck a match and lit a stick of incense he had sitting on his dresser. While Harry slid off the robe and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, Peter flopped down on the cushions that Harry had laying about his room and inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't like it?" Harry asked, reclining.

"Too spicy. I liked what you were using yesterday."

"Ah. The sandalwood. Well, I could extinguish this, open a window then light that if you like."

"Could you?" Peter smiled eagerly and Harry nodded.

"Of course. For you, like always." He tapped Peter's nose, something he'd been doing since they were both young.

In the intervening years since they'd both arrived, Harry's room had changed significantly; gone were the posters and the car-shaped bed, the curtains with cartoons on them and the toys lying about. Now instead his walls were painted an earthy brown and had literary quotes on them, supplied by Rosie, painted at intervals in light blue. The bed was low and in lieu of chairs there were a variety of cushions on it and around it on the floor. The furniture and décor had an exotic, eastern touch and the room always smelled of some sort of burning scent.

It was part of why Peter preferred Harry's room over his; being in it felt peaceful, like visiting a sanctuary.

They both stretched out, relaxing and listening to the sound of the birds that came in on the breeze through the open window. The air was cool and everything in it spoke of a quickly approaching summer.

"Nice isn't it?" Harry murmured.

"I'm going to miss it," Peter sighed.

"Peter…"

"Harry, I have to. I mean, don't you think we should talk about this?"

"You don't _have_ to," Harry grumbled.

Peter laughed, turned on his stomach and reached out to play with a stray curl of Harry's hair. "And what am I going to do?" He asked gently. "Sit at home for four years until you leave too?"

"Yes! I mean, aren't there places in Texas you could attend? It doesn't even have to be Houston, just Texas so that you can come home and stuff. What about A&M? College Station isn't that far away from here and they do a lot of research there, right?"

"Maybe if I wanted to do cloning. I mean, I applied but…"

"… there are places you'd rather go, I know. Doesn't family count for anything?"

Peter frowned. "Come on, Harry. Don't make it sound that way. I'm not abandoning you or something like that. It's not like I'm leaving and going away for good."

"Well it's not just me I'm worried about anyway." He scooted closer and looked at Peter. "You're going to be three, four years younger than most other people there. You won't even be able to legally drive. Aren't you worried at all about socializing, fitting in? What if you can't make the adjustment, what then? You'll be a thousand miles away from here with nobody to talk to."

"Fine – I worry about it!" He looked pained. "But I want a good education too. Besides, I know who I am. I'd like to think I have a solid grip on reality. I won't get into anything I can't handle."

"You don't know that," Harry shot back.

"Harry…"

"Dad made reservations for tonight at Tony's," Harry interrupted impatiently.

"What?"

"I heard him talking about it with mom. Probably to celebrate your admission to a college that's absolutely wonderful and is five states away." He sat up with a grimace and Peter sighed. He knelt behind Harry, looped his arms around the other boy and rested his head on Harry's back.

"Please be happy for me Harry?" He begged. "I don't want to accept going anywhere thinking that you're going to be mad at me the whole time. I'll come home a lot, whenever I can, you'll see. Promise me you won't be mad though."

Harry fiddled with the fringe of a pillow and sighed. "I'll try, alright? No promises, but I'll try." He twisted his head so he could see Peter. "You know the only reason I'm so upset is that I'm going to miss you like hell?"

"I know." He gave Harry a squeeze. "So I forgive you for being so grumpy."

Harry pushed him away with a laugh and Peter rolled over onto the floor.

"Come on. I suppose if we're going out tonight we should probably find out what time so we can get ready or something."

OOO

"Are you going to give Peter his letter tonight?" Rosalie looked into the mirror over her dresser as she put on a pair of dangling earrings.

"Yes, I thought it would be a nice surprise, in addition to the other news."

"And you're positive about that too? Everything is settled?"

"I have it in writing." Otto smiled as he cinched his tie. "We'll have a few months before we actually leave so we'll have more than enough time to go house hunting. You might want to visit a few in person when you take Harry up there for his audition. I assume you contacted the school about that?"

"Yes. They looked over his transcript and I had the high school forward their acceptance letter as well, just in case. LaGuardia said that they would be happy to offer him an audition spot and look over his portfolio."

"Then I suppose all that's left to do is let the boys know."

"Speaking of which, perhaps we'd better get them." She smoothed down her dress. "The reservations are in half and hour and we should leave before they start roughhousing and get wrinkled."

"Do you mind doing that? I need to find my cufflinks."

"Of course, dear."

She left their room and walked down the hall, to Peter's. It had changed little during the time he'd been there. The only differences were an ever increasing number of books, poster and scientific apparatuses and an updated computer every few years. That, plus an assortment of Harry's paintings had been gradually added to the walls and pictures put in frames were propped up on various surfaces.

Rosie entered to find them leaning over the computer, clicking at something.

"You know," she heard Harry say, "if you keep playing WoW at college, you're never going to have time for schoolwork. Seriously, it'll eat your life if you're not careful."

"I think I know when to stop," he laughed. "I'm not going to starve to death at the computer or something."

"I've heard of it happening!" Harry teased.

"Boys?" She spoke and they both looked up.

"Hey mom." Harry grinned. "Time to go?"

"Yes. Get your shoes on and get in the car and your father will be there in a moment."

"Alright, I'll sign off." Peter clicked and stood up.

"We shouldn't need coats, right?" Harry asked.

"It's supposed to be warm tonight, so probably not." Rosie walked along behind them.

"So, any special reason why we're going to Tony's?" Peter wondered as he laced up his dress shoes.

"You'll see," she winked.

"Oh come on, it's obvious." Harry tugged on a Sketcher. "This is about Peter and college, right? Where'd he get into, Rutgers or something?"

"College might be part of it," she said in a teasing tone. "But there's something else too."

"Something else?" Peter stood up. "Like what?"

"I'll let your father tell you, when the time is right."

OOO

Promised to be told what the surprise was during dessert, Harry bolted down his grilled swordfish and Peter sped through the venison dish he'd ordered, each pushing his plate back the moment he was done.

"Finished!" Harry declared. "Can you tell us now?"

"You're finished, but your mother and I aren't," Otto teased.

"Oh come on!" Peter pleaded. "We've waited all dinner – what's this big surprise?"

"Well, I suppose I can let you in on part of it." He withdrew an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Peter. "It's unopened, but a colleague of mine gave me some inside information on what it might contain."

Peter looked at the header on the envelope and felt his throat nearly close up. "Dad… this is from MIT."

"MIT?" Harry frowned. "That's in Boston, isn't it? Like, Massachusetts?"

"It is," Otto nodded. "Why don't you open it, see what it says?"

His hands were shaking but Peter managed to tear the flap over and take out the papers. "Accepted!" He grinned. "And I got a scholarship!"

"Don't act so surprised, Pete." Harry gave him a small smile, despite his obvious dismay. "You're a freaking genius. Was there ever any doubt that you'd get in?"

"Yeah, but it's… it's MIT!"

"Congratulations, son. And now that we're finished, something that should cheer you up too," he said with a look at Harry.

"Oh?"

"I know you're a bit upset that your brother is going so far away. But I didn't want to get you excited for nothing if it didn't work out, so I've been sitting on this offer for some time. It's been finalized though so I can tell you – we're moving to New York City."

As the waiter took away their plates and set down some sort of chocolate creation, Harry froze. A lump was forming in his throat and he had the distinct feeling that the ground had dropped out from under him.

"What?" He whispered.

"I've taken a job with OsCorp, as a head researcher."

Peter gasped. "OsCorp? Seriously? I just got done reading Norman Osborn's paper on nano-tech, the man's a genius! You're going to get to do research with him? Really?!" His face was practically glowing, as though Christmas had come early.

"Really and truly," Otto smiled. "Your mother has arranged for you to audition at LaGuardia," he told Harry. "We'll be moving some time in August so you'll be flying out there early to do it. And they've already agreed to look at your portfolio too. Plus, MIT is only a few hours away. Peter won't be able to live at home but he'll be able to visit frequently, every weekend if he likes."

Harry, however, had paled and felt like he was going to be sick. The fork he was holding fell to his plate with a clatter.

"And that's it?" He snapped. "We're just up and moving to New York, no asking if we want to or anything?"

Otto looked surprised. "Harry, what's wrong? LaGuardia is an excellent high school for the arts; I thought you'd be pleased."

"Why do we have to move away from home?" He demanded fiercely. "I like things where we are!"

"You'll like New York too," Rosie assured him. "It's lovely out there, I'm sure Peter can tell you. Lots of arts, museums, and theater…"

"It's cold, it stinks, there's a ton of crime, it's overcrowded, there's no good Mexican, everybody's rude…"

"I think you're being a bit pessimistic," Otto assured him. "Those are stereotypes. Peter used to actually live there, so I'm sure he can…"

"Oh I'm sure." Harry glared at Peter, a look that simultaneously conveyed hurt and a warning to be quiet. "I think I'm done," he whispered, pushing away the remainder of his dessert, folding his arms and looking down at the tablecloth.

OOO

When they reached home after an awkwardly silent ride, Rosie pulled Peter aside while Harry stormed off to his room.

"Dear? Do you know what's wrong with Harry?"

Since Harry had never told them about his past, Peter felt it wasn't his place to inform them. So he shrugged and feigned ignorance. "I don't know. I think he really likes Houston, that's all. You know how Harry is sometimes."

"Could you talk to him, darling? Assure him it will be a change for the better? It would be easier on him coming from you, I think."

"I'll try," he promised.

"Thank you," she murmured as he kicked off his shoes and went up to Harry's room.

"Harry?" He asked, pushing in the door.

"Shouldn't you knock?" Harry snapped, glaring at him viciously.

"Harry, what's wrong?' Peter sat next to him. "Do you really hate New York that much?' He whispered. "I mean, dad will have a great new job, I'll be a lot closer, you'll be going to a fantastic high school… And if you're worried about your biological dad," he said in an even lower voice, "I'd relax about that. It's a huge city. Whoever he is, he might not even live there any more. Anyway, how would he ever find you or recognize you?" He tried to rub Harry's arm, but Harry shrugged it off and turned away.

"You don't understand," he told Peter coldly.

"Then explain it!" Peter begged. "Maybe the city doesn't have the best memories for you. But we'll make new ones! Ones with you and me and mom and dad. Couldn't you give it a chance? Dad and I are really happy about this, but it's no fun if you're not happy too." Peter looked at him hopefully, trying to discern what Harry might be thinking.

For a long moment, Harry was tempted to tell Peter, tell their dad, everything. Explain why he didn't want to go, why he didn't want their father to take the job, tell them about how cold and calculating a man Otto's new employer really was. However, the prospect clearly excited Peter and their father. Who was he to take that away? Perhaps his childhood memories were clouded; perhaps he remembered things as worse than they actually were. Besides, their dad would be working with him, not being raised by him. And Norman did love his work, that much was true.

If he dug in his heels he might be ruining the best thing that had ever happened to his family. And their dad was right; it would mean being a lot closer to Peter while Peter got to go to the college he really deserved to attend. Besides, he reasoned privately, it wasn't as though he ever actually had to meet or see Osborn in person. It could be avoided, probably.

With a sigh, he turned to Peter and forced a smile.

"Sorry for making dessert so miserable. I'm happy for you. Really."

He sounded less than enthused, but, Peter thought, he would take what he could get. He gave Harry a tight hug and jumped up.

"Thanks Harry," he grinned. "You'll see; it'll be better than you think it will."

Harry doubted that; to the contrary, it was more likely to be much, much worse. But it would be good for his family.

And who was he to stand in the way of that?

OOO

A/N: And that, dear readers, is how they end up in New York. So obviously it's a precarious situation, though only Harry knows how much – and even he doesn't see the worst dangers. But to find out how it all works out, you'll have to keep reading. ;) On a side note, both Tony's (the restaurant) and LaGuardia are real places. And on that note, I hope you enjoyed and that you'll come back for the next chapter.


	6. Packing Up

OOO

"Drink?" 

"I'll have a Coke, thank you." Rosalie took the plastic cup that the flight attendant proffered. "Harry? Do you want anything?" She touched his arm lightly and he turned away from the small window he'd been staring out. 

"Sorry. Water's fine, thanks." He twisted the top of the miniature bottle she passed him and took a brief sip. 

"Are you nervous?" 

He shrugged. "I guess." 

"You have everything ready? Your monologues are memorized and everything for your portfolio was in your carry-on?" 

"Yeah, everything's fine mom." He drained more of the water. 

She sighed. "Harry, what's the matter? You haven't been yourself for weeks. I know this move is hard…"

"I don't want to go to New York!" He burst out. "You don't understand!" 

"If I don't understand, then tell me Harry," she replied in a patient tone. "We've been wondering for weeks now, but you don't give us anything other than telling us you hate it." She gently brushed his hair out of his face in a motherly gesture. "Why don't you give it a chance during this visit? I'll get us tickets to a show or two, we'll explore, see the city. Then you can make a judgment, okay?" 

He didn't reply but shoved the empty water bottle into the seat pocket in front of him and went back to staring out of the window. 

"Do you want to go over your monologues again?" 

Harry shook his head. "I'm good. Maybe I'll go over them tomorrow." He looked back at her. "Mom? Do you think Pete's going to be okay at MIT?" 

"Peter…" she sighed. "Oh Harry, I hope so. I'm going to call him every night you know. For the first few weeks at least." She smiled at her son, who shared the grin. 

"He'll be really, really embarrassed, but…"

"…he won't say anything about it," Rosalie finished. 

"'Cause that's how Pete is." Harry's smile twisted slightly. "That's why I worry about him. He's so… so good. Kids take advantage of someone like that, especially if they're young." 

Rosalie nodded, finished her Coke and sighed again. "Oh Harry. Sometimes I wonder…" 

He looked at her curious. "What is it mom?" 

"Nothing Harry." She shrugged. "Grownup matters." 

"I'm fourteen, mom. I think I can take it. Besides," he grinned mischievously, "aren't you the one always telling us that we shouldn't keep secrets from the family?" 

She nearly laughed. "Nice try, Harry. But I suppose. I worry that you and Peter – Peter especially – might have grown up a little fast."

"I liked how we grew up. Pete too. You're a good mom and dad – I couldn't have asked for a better one." The grin spread across his face again. "Even when you grounded me." 

"Never without just cause, young man." She pointed a finger at him in mock severity. "College at fourteen though – it _does_ seem young."

"Was that what you guys were fighting about last week?" 

"You heard?" 

"Yeah. Pete was asleep though. I'm pretty sure." 

"Well, don't tell him. It wasn't anything major but you know how he takes the least suggestion that he's the cause of the problem." 

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. "He goes into guilt overdrive. I keep trying to talk him out of that but I'm not sure it'll ever take." 

"He had a very disruptive youth. It many ways it makes sense that he'd be a peacemaker and would fault himself first. But it wasn't a large argument; an old one, but not a large one." 

"About Peter?" 

"Your father… he sees a lot of himself in Peter. And it takes a bit of reminding every now and again so that he recognizes that Peter is Peter and not a younger version of Otto."

"He loves Pete though, right? He's not like Lauren's crazy mom." 

"The one who threw her red stiletto at the director after he daughter got cast as the eldest Von Trapp girl instead of Maria? No, he's not nearly that bad nor will he ever be. He loves you both and has your welfare at heart. We both do. Only we disagree sometimes about what that might be." 

"Pete seems really into it though. I mean, he likes doing what he does. And he's really excited about college." 

She nodded. "I know, sweetie. Still, four years – that's a lot of childhood, of high school to miss out on." 

"Maybe. But if it makes you feel better, mom, I don't think he feels he's missing out on anything. Except maybe being with us." There was a ding and the captain's voice filled the cabin, indicating that they were starting their descent into JFK International. Harry pushed his table up, locked it into place and made sure his belt was cinched before turning to his mother again. "I'm really going to miss him." 

"I know, dear. We all will. But he'll be with us on the weekends." 

"How will I do in math? How am I going to manage in science? Who will I hang out with?" 

"Your father can help with the first two. And I'm sure you'll make friends here, if you let people get close."

"It's not the _same_ though. Friends aren't siblings." 

"Nothing stays the same Harry." She gave him a rueful smile. 

"I wish it did. I wish I could _make_ it stay the same." 

"We all do at some points; but all we can really do is make the most of it." 

OOO

OOO

"How did you do?" Otto asked as they dragged the suitcases down the hall and packed them into the trunk. 

"Did alright. I mean, I'm confident. Feel good about how I did. I won't know for a while though." 

"Well that's good. And what else did you two get up to." 

"Do you want to tell him?" Rosie looked at Harry. 

The boy shrugged and slid into the back seat where Peter was waiting. "You can tell." 

"We saw a show, _Beauty and the Beast_, and we went shopping, at a lot of the stores…" 

"I thought those bags felt heavier," Otto teased as they pulled out. 

"…and we went to the park and lots of places," she went on, ignoring the interruption. "You'll see when we get the pictures developed – I took lots of them." 

"Excellent!" Peter spoke up. "I can't wait to put them in an album." 

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for college?" Harry poked him. "You know, reading ahead and all that." 

"Oh! Harry! Wait until you see what dad got me!" 

"I can barely contain my enthusiasm," he muttered sarcastically. 

"I got a mini-fridge for my dorm! Isn't that cool? It even as a special rack for holding soda cans." 

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes. "Soda. That's what guys who go to college put in them." 

"Harry…" Rosalie warned. 

"I'm not a drunk, Harry." Peter punched him in the shoulder. 

"I don't think you'd know _how_ to be a drunk, Pete." 

"Yes I could! If I wanted to!" 

"Oh please, you could not! You wouldn't know the first thing about liquor or mixing…"

"And you do?" 

"Boys!" Otto interrupted. "As neither of you will be drinking for at least seven years, I suggest you drop the subject. It should not now – nor I hope ever – matter that either of you know how to be a drunk." 

"Remember Pete." Harry winked. "Just say no." 

Peter gave a little frown and turned to stare out of his window, but Harry poked him in the side and despite himself he was laughing before long. Once he'd calmed down, he looked at Harry seriously. 

"Did you like the city?" 

"It was fine," he shrugged. "Nothing special. You can't get a decent taco to save your life, everything is overpriced and the trees are all different. But I can get used to it. I mean, I'll guess I have to." 

OOO

OOO

"I still can't believe how big the house is. I mean, for New York." Peter remarked as he wrapped more dishes in packing foam. "It's really expensive there, isn't it? For a house like ours I mean." 

"Yes, but OsCorp gave your father money to cover initial moving and housing expenses. With his new salary we should be able to afford the upkeep fairly easily." 

"It's a lot bigger than the place I lived in with my aunt and uncle." 

"How big is it compared to our house right now?" Harry came in with another set of unfolded boxes and began to construct them and tape them up. "Will we have as many rooms and everything?" 

"It's a bit smaller but we'll manage." Rosalie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and reached for a box to continue packing in bowls and utensils. "How's your father coming along with the garage?" 

"He thinks he'll be done by the end of today, which probably means Thursday." Harry grinned. 

"You know," Peter went on, "dad says that Mr. Osborn has this incredible penthouse on the top of the OsCorp building. I wonder what it looks like." 

Harry tore viciously at the tape in his hands and bit down on his tongue before the words 'ugly' and 'ostentatious' could escape. 

"Well maybe you'll get to see it sometime, sweetie." Rosie wrapped up a blender. 

"Mom?" Harry stood suddenly. "I'm going to go start packing up the books in my room, if that's okay." 

"Of course. Remember, don't pack the boxes up too heavily. Use only the little ones for things like books. We don't want your father throwing his back out trying to load the truck." 

"Say mom?" Peter continued blithely as his brother slipped out of the room. "When we get to New York, will dad paint our bedroom ceilings like he did out here?" 

"I'm sure he'd be glad too. Pass me that bag of packing peanuts, please." 

OOO

Up in his room, Harry ran his fingers along the spines of the books, stroking each as if it were an old friend. He began to carefully arrange them by size, pausing to look at the covers, flip through and think about the memories each one help. As he was flipping through _Frankenstein_ – the 1818 edition, the one his mother argued was the 'true' version – there was a knock at the door and he looked up to see Peter. 

"Need any help? Mom and I are done with the dishes and she's got whatever's left in the kitchen." 

"Oh. Um… well, hunt down one of the big boxes and I guess we can start packing up my pillows and stuff." He slid _Frankenstein_ in next to _The Catcher in the Rye_ while Peter ducked out in to the hallway to grab another box. "Do you have any books you'd like to shove in here? There's a little room left." 

"Packed all mine up yesterday." He reached for a purple embroidered pillow. "I might put in a few knickknacks though." 

Harry nodded and reached for a blue pillow with a leaf print on it. "I can't believe how much stuff we have." 

"I know. You never really think about it but it all kinda accumulates, doesn't it." 

"You're telling me." Harry went into the closet and pulled out more pillows. "And hey!" He stopped for a moment and stood. "Speaking of stuff, look what I found!" 

He tossed something to Peter; catching it, he saw that it was a stuffed animal.

"My old teddy bear!" He laughed. "How'd you end up with him?" 

"You used to camp out in here all the time when we were little. Must have left him in here the last time you slept with him." Harry piled more blankets and pillows into the box before folding it shut. "Going to take him to college?" 

"Ha ha." He shoved the bear into Harry's chest. "Maybe I'll give him to you. Something to remember me by." 

"Maybe I will." Harry grabbed the bear and hugged it defensively. "Since you're so determined on abandoning me." Then his eyes misted and he slumped against the wall, sliding down it into a sitting position, still clutching the bear. "For the first time in my life I'm going to be alone." 

"Harry!" Peter sat next to him. "You know that's not true. We never went to school together. And we were away from each other lots of times at summer camp." 

"Yeah, but only one or two weeks. Not a year. Not four years. Not four years of seeing each other only once a week." 

"Maybe only three if I work hard," Peter suggested hopefully. 

"That's not really helping Pete." Harry glared at him then sighed. "Going back to New York – it was creepy. Having to pretend everything was new when I knew what it would all be like. Trying to have fun when all I could think about was the past." 

"I wish you would tell me what you're so afraid of _now_." Peter leaned against Harry, head on the other's shoulder. "You have a family now. You can't go back to where you were, even if you're in New York. And even if I'm going to college, I'm not going away – not for good." He reached and played with the bear's ear. "Maybe you'd feel better if you told mom and dad why you're so worried." 

"I… I don't want to upset them." 

"Harry, you moping all the time has already upset them. They know something's wrong. And they're worried that you won't say what, just like I am." 

"You already know what's wrong, Pete." 

"Some of it. But you're not telling me everything." He rubbed Harry's arm. "If you're really upset about me leaving, I'd think you could at least be honest with me." 

"Shameless," Harry scoffed. "You know that Pete? Blatant emotion manipu…" 

"Well are you going to tell me or not?" Peter interrupted, and then poked Harry in the side. "Maybe I'll tickle you until you talk." 

He laughed. "Come on. I think we know who'd win that battle." Then he grew serious. "Look… if I tell you… promise you won't tell mom and dad? No matter how much they ask?"

"On the graves of my aunt and uncle, Harry, just tell me!" He burst out, exasperated. 

Harry took a deep breath and leaned in. Peter waited and held his own breath when, without warning, Harry turned and stood. 

"I need to get another box for my clothes." He looked down at the bear in his hands for a moment before tossing it in with the box of books and walking out, leaving Peter to watching him leave. 

OOO

A/N: So again, a Harry-centric chapter. The next one will be Peter moving into MIT so it should focus on him and Otto a little bit more. Also – just so you know – not everything is significant but some details are. ;) Just throwing that in there. 

Next chapter will be up soon and I hope you enjoyed this one. And while we're at it – Happy St. Paddy's Day. Hope yours was as full of green beer, Norman Reedus, Willem Dafoe and Sean Patrick Flanery as mine was. 


	7. Moving In

OOO

OOO

"I'm sorry sir." The woman at the table looked up at Otto. "But we're not doing any campus tours this week. It's move-in week so everything is rather hectic. I'm sure we could schedule something for you shortly, though."

Otto noticed Peter blush and he gave the boy a sympathetic glance. "We are here for check in. This is Burton-Conner correct?"

"Oh!" Now the woman flushed. "I'm sorry sir. What is your son's name?"

"Peter Octavius."

"Octavius?" A teen filling out a set of forms at the station next to them turned and appraised the pair. "Holy shit, you're Otto Octavius!" He dropped the clipboard he'd been scribbling on and fumbled in his messenger bag for a moment before pulling out a calculator and silver Sharpie, thrusting them to Otto. "I hope you don't think I'm too rude or too much of a dork, but could you sign my calculator for me? Make it out to Lawrence?"

Otto looked to Peter who gave him a little nod before taking his own set of forms from the lady. "Looks like I'm on Conner second," he informed his dad, looking through the packet of information.

"I'll let your mother know," he replied, handing the calculator back to the boy who looked like he was about to have a fit. As the boy ran over to a group a few feet away Otto leaned down and whispered to Peter. "I think I had best make me escape before I'm accosted."

Peter laughed and shrugged. "Geeks. What can you do? We're a strange breed." He flipped through the forms. "Could I get you to sign something too though? I got my booster shots, right?"

"Indeed." Otto jotted his name on the line. "We'll bring your things over shortly. You go get the room open."

"Meet you there."

Peter exchanged the filled-out forms for a key and various other bits of information, including where to get his student ID, the rules for staying in the dorms, recommended lists of supplies to have and a flier about activities and mixers that would be happening that week for the freshmen. He wandered up to the room gradually, trying to give his parents time to get everything unloaded but also giving himself time to soak up all of the sights and sounds of the campus.

He had to admit, it was bigger than he'd expected, exciting, thrilling, but also nerve-wracking. Harry's worries echoed in his mind and he straightened up, trying to make himself feel taller once he realized how much older everybody else around him seemed.

Despite his meandering path, Peter reached the room without much difficulty, opened it and found it empty. Flopping down onto the bed, he looked up and the ceiling and realized with regret that it was something else he'd miss – his father's stars. They'd already painted the ceiling of his bedroom back home in New York, but he didn't suspect that painting the ceiling was something that the housing department would take to kindly. With a sigh, he straightened up and began to explore the nooks and crannies of the space.

His parents arrived not long after and they began a flurry of unpacking. Peter spread out the sheets while his father built a bookshelf in addition to the storage provided in the room and his mother unpacked the boxes of books he'd brought, setting them on his desk. At one point, a lanky boy named Duncan came in and briefly introduced himself before hastily retreating to his own suite while Peter's family continued in their task. Harry filled his drawers with clothes while Peter began hooking up his computer and all the various electronics he'd brought.

"You're putting everything in there neatly, right Harry?" He cast a worried glance at his sock drawer.

His brother rolled his eyes. "Of course. I know just how you like it. Sock and underwear top draw, shirts in the middle, pants and sweaters at the bottom, everything organized by color."

Peter shot him a smile. "That predictable?"

"Yup. See, you should follow my method. It would save you lots of time."

"What? The cram everything into a random drawer so you can't find anything and it's a wrinkled mess when you do?"

"Been working for me for the better part of a decade."

"You could learn something from Peter," Rosie interjected.

"Mom!" Harry rolled his eyes.

"So are we all done?" Peter looked around to make sure everything was in order.

"Only the decorating – but we'll leave that to you," Otto told him.

"You took all my paintings and drawings, right?" Harry looked at him for reassurance.

"Most of them. Well you want me to have a few at home in my room, don't you? Besides, if I had taken everything I don't think there would be a blank spot on my wall." He poked Harry in the side. "If I don't get everything put up before you leave I'll be sure to take a picture of it so you can see how it looks."

"Or I could just come up with dad when he picks you up," Harry pointed out with a smirk.

"Or you could do that," Peter replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well, since you're mostly unpacked, what shall we do next? Explore the campus or have dinner?" Otto inquired.

"I'm good with either." Peter shrugged. "Not really hungry right now."

"It will be dark soon," Rosie said. "Perhaps we should see the campus before night falls?"

They took a rambling walk around the buildings and lawns, listening as Otto pointed out facts and anecdotes about each building. Fewer people were wandering around and none of them recognized Otto, a fact for which Peter was secretly relieved. Few people in the normal world recognized his name or face. But at a school dedicated to most things science, it was a bit amusing and a bit daunting to find his father something of a celebrity.

"It's kinda like being Reed Richards' kid, if he was grown up. Or Norman Osborn's, if he had one," Peter explained to Harry at dinner over an appetizer of calamari. "You know. Most people wouldn't know them to see them but if you're a scientist… It'd be like being an English major if you were Salman Rushdie's son." Harry was looking disgruntled again, so Peter quickly pressed forward to change the subject. "It's just a bit awkward is all. Anyway, did you see how weird some of the buildings were? Pretty cool, hunh?"

"Yeah, they were kinda neat," Harry agreed, taking a drink of Dr. Pepper. "So did you talk to your other suitemates much?"

"No. Not at all really. The one in the room next to me seems a bit quiet. The guys across the hall were really noisy though, so I'm sure I'll get to know them before long." He dipped a piece of calamari in marinara. "There's a fair for groups and organizations next week so I'll probably go to that and hopefully find something I can get involved in, meet a few people."

For a moment he was worried that Harry would get upset at the prospect of him making new acquaintances, but his brother only nodded. "I'm sure they'll have a lot you like here."

"I think so." He pushed the small plate aside as the waiter set down his dish of chicken marsala. "What about you?"

Harry shrugged. "School starts next week. I've got a pretty basic schedule but I think it will work out."

"Good." Peter brightened. "And you'll send me e-mails constantly?" Harry nodded. "I'll be able to check them all the time – the network here is lightning fast. Then in a few days when I get back, you can tell me all about it again and I can show you all the pictures I took!"

"Shutterbug," Harry teased him fondly.

"Well how else could I preserve my memories?"

OOO

Despite his jovial attitude at dinner, Peter was a bit daunted at the prospect of spending his first night alone on campus. His parents dropped him off, assuring him that a night at the dorm would help him to acclimate, before driving off for their hotel, intent on leaving in the morning. Mentally, he tried to calm himself down and reason that it was not unlike all the other times he'd slept alone, at camps and on school trips. The nagging sense of difference remained, however, causing him to toss and turn beneath the covers.

Because it was only the first day, not everybody had moved in and even the kids across the hall had quieted. It was so still that Peter jumped with a start when Duncan knocked at his door, asking to come in.

"You're in bed early," he remarked in an even tone.

"I guess," Peter responded in a guarded fashion. "You can sit down if you like."

"Thanks." He pulled out the desk chair and they sat in awkward silence for a few moments, each looking at the other as if trying to figure out where to begin. "So where're you from?" Duncan finally asked.

"Houston, by way of New York. You?"

"San Diego. But – by way of New York? How does that work?"

"I used to live there when I was little and my dad just got a job in the city so I'll be living there again."

"Why'd you move to Houston?"

Before Peter could answer there was another rapping at the door.

"Come in!" Peter called out after Duncan remained silent for a moment.

A dark-haired boy burst through the door with a sandy blond girl following in his wake. "Hey there! We're the guys from room across from you! I'm Gilbert and this is Rosie."

"Hey," she added with a wave.

"Hi. I'm Duncan," the first boy spoke.

"And I'm Peter." He gave her a smile. "I like your name. It's the same as my mom's."

"Thanks," she said, returning the grin.

"We saw you moving in today! So you two are freshmen?" Duncan nodded. "Christ you're small!"

"Gil!" The girl glared at him. "I'm sorry, he's like that. Says the first thing that comes into his head."

"Well he is!" Gil rolled his eyes. "Seriously, are you even 18?" He quirked an eyebrow at fourteen.

Peter shook his head apologetically. "I'm fourteen."

Rosie punched Gilbert in the side. "Told you that you shouldn't have made that stupid bet."

"Bet?" Duncan wondered.

"A couple of us – and by us I mean returning residents – saw you moving in and were taking bets on how old you were. Who had fourteen anyway?"

"Aaron, I think."

"Damn." He turned his attention back to Peter, who was wondering how they would take his age. "So, fourteen, eh? You must be a freaking genius." He was promptly slapped on the back of the head by his female companion. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Didn't you see his parents? His dad's Otto Octavius; he's probably got super genes or something."

The boy let out a low whistle. "Scientist's kid? And I'm sure that had nothing to do with your admission."

"Be nice!" Rose admonished. "He's fourteen! They don't let a kid that young in because of his dad! Besides, this isn't Yale. Like I said, he probably has a crazy amount of talent thanks to his parents."

Peter flushed. "Um… well.. you see.. kinda…"

"What?' Gil looked at him.

"I mean… my dad… he's not my biological dad."

"Oh." Rosie frowned. "You're adopted. I'm sorry."

"No harm."

"Did your dad go looking for super kids or something? Was there a standardized test you had to take to get adopted by him?"

"Gilbert, if you keep harassing him I'm going to break your jaw! Seriously!" She leaned against the desk. "So was the boy with you your brother?"

Peter nodded. "That was Harry. We're both adopted. He's not biologically related to me either, but he's pretty darn close. He's actually the one who got us adopted… I recognized dad when he first came to the boy's home and Harry walked right up to him and said he should adopt us." Peter chuckled at the memory.

"That was your brother?" Gil frowned. "Whoops."

"Gil, what did you do?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I might have kinda sorta told Cassie I thought it was cute that his boyfriend was helping him move in."

Peter felt like he was going to die, Duncan looked immensely uncomfortable and Rosie turned a violent shade of red.

"GIL!" She screamed.

"What! They were all touchy-feely and they looked like they were the same age but they weren't twins…"

"They could have been fraternal twins, dumbass! Or adopted! Or something else other than… good lord, you are the stupidest piece of crap to ever have an opinion. I hope you don't vote with that mind." She rolled her eyes and looked at Duncan. "And what about you? What's your story?"

"Not much to tell really. I came out here from San Diego. I drove myself… the 'rents didn't feel much like a cross-country road trip to get me here. Took a while but I made it…"

OOO

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" Otto turned around to see Norman Osborn standing in the doorway of his office.

"Very nice. And the lab is top notch of course."

"Excellent. If you've need of anything, you've only to ask you know." He gave him a toothy smile. "I expect great things of you, Dr. Octavius and I'm sure you won't disappoint."

"I hope I won't," Otto replied, filling a cabinet with file folders as Norman strolled through the room.

"Is this your family?" He asked, picking up a picture from the desk.

"Yes. My wife and two sons, Peter and Harry."

"I see." He set the photograph down. "Harry… is that short for anything? Henry or Harold?"

"No, just Harry." Otto began organizing CDs on one of the shelves in the room. "You should meet them sometime. You would probably like them, especially Peter. He's going to MIT, you know."

"Really…"

"I'm quite proud of him. Harry too. He's attending LaGuardia High School here in New York."

"Ah. The school for the arts." His inflection changed, though Otto, busy with putting his office in order, failed to notice.

"Quite the artist and an aspiring actor too. They're both good boys." He turned and looked at Osborn who was still looking about the room, meandering towards the door. "Do you have any family?"

"None to speak of." Norman gave him a wry smile and a nod. "I'm afraid I must leave you to your work. I'm quite busy, as you know, and I'm sure you are too."

He left the room while Otto tended to his computer, straightening out the photo of his family while it booted and looking at the image with a smile.

OOO

A/N: So first pressing questions first – Norman does not quite know yet. He suspects but he's not sure. More on that in the coming chapters. As for the school – the dorm is real, the people are not (though for the clever among you there's a theme to the names ;) ). Things will be getting lots more complicated now and for those anticipating it, fear not – a spider-bite is in the near future.


	8. Returning Home

OOO

Rosie was still unpacking when Otto left with Harry to go and pick up Peter from college the first weekend. Harry was practically bouncing off the walls in his eagerness to go but the house was still relatively unpacked so she declined. Otto gave her a quick kiss and promised that they would all go out together once they brought Peter home, if he was feeling up to it. Waiting at the door, she waved them goodbye then went back to her work.

Taking her tie so as not to break anything fragile, she slit the tape on the top of a box and pried it open. Inside, she found a stack of framed photographs, mostly taken and lovingly packed by Peter. She took them out one by one, unwrapped them from their protective foam padding and began to place them and hang them around the house.

On an end table she arranged several pictures of the boys and Otto. There was one with a snowflake shaped frame that had the boys at Christmastime when they were about seven or eight, sleeping on top of Otto after opening and playing with their presents. Another was of the three of them building a sandcastle during one of their many trips to the shore. She laughed, remembering the day; Otto had been trying to teach them architectural principles about how to make it stable. But while Peter listened attentively, Harry had been more concerned with finding shells to decorate the outside and digging a moat.

There was a ledge above the fireplace on which she set a picture of her and Otto before they left for their 20th anniversary dinner – Peter had taken that one – along with several 'first day of school' pictures of Harry and Peter. There were ones of her with Otto, working on something Otto had brought home together or making dinner or doing yard work. Some were photographs Otto had taken, including a few of her and the boys making cupcakes and making a mess. A few were of herself, Otto and Harry when they were camping, sitting around the fire or setting up the tent. She had taken one of Peter and Harry roasting marshmallows, Peter carefully toasting his while Harry just stuck his in the fire then puffed the burning confection out.

At the bottom of the box was an album that contained more photos without frames. Rosalie flipped through the album nostalgically. Most of the pictures brought back pleasant memories, though a few puzzled her. She came across one of a plate with oddly sculpted foods that she wondered about, until recalling that Harry had gone through a phase when he was younger, only eating foods shaped in a circle. The mashed potatoes hadn't been bad but the carrots were rather tough, as she remembered.

They were growing up, she thought with a sigh. Peter was in college, Harry was in high school, they would be driving before she knew it…

"Mom!" There was a voice at the door and Peter ran over, hugging her like it had been years instead of days.

"I think she needs to breathe Petey," Harry laughed, coming in with Peter's overnight bag.

"How was school?" She asked when Peter let go.

"It's the best place ever! The labs are awesome and my classes are so cool, wait until you see what we're doing in calc, and all my roommates are pretty neat – look, I have pictures of them on my camera! – and there's all kinds of stuff to do on campus…"

"Talk over dinner!" Harry admonished and tugged him away. "I'm starving!"

They barreled up the stairs and Rosie laughed. They _were_ growing up; but they were still her boys.

OOO

"So you like it there?" Harry picked out Link from the character screen then looked at Peter while he chose his character.

"Yeah." Peter finally settled on Sheik. "The kids are pretty friendly. It was kinda weird being younger at first, but they don't seem to mind. And like I said before, it feels like everybody out there knows who dad is. Not many people have said anything about that though."

"Well they shouldn't," Harry retorted defensively while he punched in a combo, sending Peter flying to the edge of the layer. "You got where you are because you're smart, not because of dad."

"I think most of them know that." Peter replied, tilting his controller as he fought. Even so, it wasn't long before he'd lost all his lives. "You know," he said, turning to Harry at the end with a smirk, "what they thought about you?"

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

"The guy in the room across the hall, Gil, thought you were my boyfriend."

"What!"

"That's right. Had Cassie and Tammy convinced of it too."

"I told you that you should have taken that Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders calendar I gave you."

"Well maybe if you weren't so touchy-feely…" Peter teased in a playfully sarcastic tone.

Laughing, Harry smacked the back of his head. "Don't bullshit me Pete. You and I both know you love getting hugs and backrubs, whoever's handing them out."

Peter blushed. "So? Doesn't everybody?" He chewed his lip while Harry picked the next level and looked at the screen thoughtfully. "I mean, it's silly though. You like girls, right?"

"Well… yeah. Sure I do. I mean, you do too. Right?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right. Of course." Peter nodded. "I was just making sure."

"Doof." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Boys! Dinner!" Rosie called into the room. "Are you ready?"

"I gotta grab my coat," Harry replied.

"We'll be right there!" Peter jumped up and turned off the GameCube. "Give us a minute!"

Rosie waited by the door while Peter tied his shoes. "You certainly seem glad to be home again," she remarked.

"I am." He grinned. "College is fun but there's no place like home."

OOO

OOO

A couple months later, as Harry sat on the couch doing his homework, he heard his father come into the house. Setting aside the textbook, he went to greet him and found him talking with Rosie in the kitchen.

"…so we'll have to clean up a bit, but I think it will be worth it," he told her.

"Won't Peter be surprised!" She smiled. "Harry!" Noticing him in the door, she waved him in.

"Hey guys. What's up?"

"Your father tells me we're having a special guest this Saturday. Go on, Otto, tell him."

"Well, I doubt you'll be as excited about it as your brother will. But I hope you'll both help us in tidying the place up. I managed to convince my new boss, Mr. Osborn, to drop by for dinner."

Heart in his throat, Harry forced a smile onto his face. "Pete will be really surprised."

"Oh, you're telling me," Rosie chuckled. "You should hear the way he goes on about him sometimes, him and that nano-tech… If I didn't know better, I'd say he thinks more highly of him than of you," she teased Otto.

"I wouldn't be surprised. What do you think Harry?" Otto turned to his son, but he was gone. "That's odd."

"He's got some homework to do and I'm sure he wants to get it done before you two go to pick up Peter," Rosie reassured him. "So, any thoughts on what this Mr. Osborn might enjoy most to eat?"

Back in the living room, Harry stared down at the set of problems he was supposed to be doing, trying to get a hold of himself. He knew, he had to know, or at the least suspected, and that's why he'd agreed to come. _Convinced, my ass_, Harry thought. Oh, he probably didn't show it, how interested he was in Harry. But the businessman was probably eager to get inside their house, see him in close quarters, torment him or confirm suspicions. There was no other reason for it.

What to do, though? Harry rolled onto his back and stared at the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Being sick wasn't an option. It would only indicate to Osborn that he was afraid of him, too afraid to see him. It would look suspicious, like he was avoiding him. If he didn't go then he'd be even worse off than before. Of course, if he did go then his 'father' would get to see him in person, examine him up close. It was a no-win situation only made worse by the fact that they had pictures everywhere. There was no way to remove them all, even if it wouldn't look suspicious to do so.

Of course, it had been years since his 'father' would have seen him, he reasoned to himself. And he wasn't the kind to take or keep out pictures. It would be surprising if Norman could remember what he looked like at all. Maybe there was nothing to it, just an employer paying a visit to an employee. Maybe he was imaging the situation to be worse than it was.

The point, he told himself firmly, was that even if Norman suspected something he probably didn't have enough to go on. And besides, he'd been adopted – what could Norman do anyway? The key wasn't to avoid Norman or arouse his suspicions; it was to dull them. _You're an actor,_ he told himself. _So act, damn it._ Act like he didn't know anything, act like he'd never seen Norman in his life, act like he wasn't going to throw up at the thought of eating dinner with the man again. Act and maybe Osborn would chalk it all up to coincidence and move on.

Despite all his reasoning, he still felt jittery when he went with his father to go pick up Peter. Peter bounced into the car, practically going through the roof when Otto told him, and Harry sat next to him, faking his smiles and trying not to scream.

OOO

That Saturday, any illusions Harry had of Norman not having the slightest idea quickly evaporated. He sat adjacent to Otto, across from Rosalie and next to Peter, but to Harry it felt like Norman's eyes were persistently drifting towards him. He had prowled about the living room earlier in the evening while they were waiting for the chicken to be finished, picking up the pictures, looking at each one and asking questions. Peter had rambled about their memories until Harry wanted to punch him in the face.

With each picture, each memory that got shared, Harry felt like another bit out of his life had been taken, devoured by a subtle beast.

While they ate, Harry forced his food down and wondered if he was the only one who saw something ugly in Osborn's smile. Peter was still going on about what he was doing at MIT. Otto was explaining to all of them with comments from Norman about what they were working on at the company. And thought it all, Norman tossed in flattering comments, praising Rosie's cooking, Peter's intelligence, Otto's work, and so on.

"And what about you… Harry, isn't it? What are you doing at school?" Norman looked at him as he poured a glass of wine from a bottle Otto had set out for the occasion.

Harry shrugged, doing his best to act nonchalant. "This and that. Schoolwork. I'm in a play. Been doing some work with pastels recently in my art classes. We're working on a section on landscapes."

"Quite a bit different from what your brother is working on," he said in a tone that was somewhere between amused and a slap.

"Pete's the scientist, not me." Harry tossed back and pushed the spinach on his plate around with his fork. "I can barely make it through algebra."

The conversation drifted into other topics and Harry limited his remarks to the few and far between. He doubted that anybody noticed; Peter seemed eager to fill up any gap in the conversation and Norman seemed more than willing to talk to him. Though it felt like an age to Harry, the dinner was finally over and he had to keep from breathing a sigh of relief as Norman went to the door.

"Thank you for the lovely evening."

"Our pleasure, Mr. Osborn," Rosie told him with a smile.

"Well I insist upon returning the favor. You must come to the penthouse some time. Say, two weeks from now?"

Harry gripped the banister white-knuckled as Otto exchanged a glance with Rosie. "I think that would work," he told Osborn. "We look forward to it."

"Not as much as I do, I assure you. Good evening then, Dr. Octavius. Mrs. Octavius. Peter. Harry." He nodded to each in turn before disappearing down the front steps.

"Come on, Pete," Harry managed to murmur. "Let's clear off the table."

They loaded up the dishwasher in record time and Harry went up the stairs before they had much time to talk about anything regarded the evening. Peter followed him to his room, a little puzzled but still excited.

"Hey Harry!" He grinned, looking at Harry who was already stretched out on his bed with a book. "Isn't that cool! We get to go to Mr. Osborn's penthouse! I hear it's huge and dad says it has all these weird African masks and… and…" He trailed off when he saw his brother's shoulder's shaking. "Harry?" He closed the door then rushed over. "Harry what's wrong?"

Peter felt his stomach twist as he leaned over his brother. Why was Harry crying? Harry didn't cry. There was no reason to cry. His brain stumbled, trying to make sense of it all when Harry looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot.

"I know what it looks like, Pete," he whispered as tears spilled over. "I know what it looks like and I don't want to go back there, I _never_ want to go back there…"

"Oh my god, Harry…" A look of realization and horror dawned on Peter's face as Harry buried his head in the pillow. "Mr. Osborn… is he? I mean… he must be… I mean… I didn't think… is that why he was… but why didn't you say _anything_, Harry?" He leaned over and shook him. "I didn't know, why didn't you say anything?"

"You were so thrilled about meeting him," Harry spat out bitterly. "So excited, enamored…"

"I didn't _know_ Harry. I wouldn't have liked him better. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to like him so much… I didn't think he was… Oh god, Harry, I'm so sorry." He rubbed Harry's back. "I swear, I won't like him anymore. I don't even really want to go. We'll probably have to dress up and it won't be any fun and…"

"Don't tell dad and mom," Harry interrupted.

"What? Why?"

"I _ran away_, Pete. From somebody they respect. Somebody dad works for. You don't think that's going to cause any problems or raise any questions?"

"But they love you. They'll listen to you, I'm sure they'll understand…"

"_Please?_" Harry begged. "Don't say anything, not yet."

Peter frowned and looked at him, then sighed. "Ok, Harry. I won't say anything."

There was a lot more that he wanted to know about, many more blanks he was hoping would be filled in by his brother. And Peter hoped that he would agree to tell their parents before long. Something so big… it didn't feel right keeping it from them. But he'd promised Harry, he thought, and he wasn't going to break his promise.

Sliding off the bed as Harry fell asleep, Peter pulled the covers over him then padded quietly into his own room next door, wondering how Harry was doing as he tried to get to drift off himself.

OOO

A/N: So now Peter knows. We'll get a bit more from Norman's perspective the next time and maybe even, if things work out right, a certain life changing even at the lab. ;) No promises but maybe. Hope you enjoyed and review if you would with any criticism/thoughts/comments you might have.


	9. Life Changing

OOO

OOO

"…and so she got into a fight after class with her lab partner…"

"Uh-huhn." Peter scribbled a few numbers into his notebook.

"Pete, are you listening?" Cassie looked at him from across the room where she was playing on the lounge PlayStation with Julie and Malcolm.

"Sure, yeah."

"…so then she stuffed him into a closet and painted the lab purple."

"That's nice."

"That's what I thought."

"You know Pete, you've been really out of it this week." Malcolm looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Gil and Rose say you hardly leave you room except for class."

He shrugged. "Sorry. Just busy."

"Alright," Julie set her controller down with a sigh. "What's wrong? Something happen at home?"

"It's nothing." He punched a few numbers into his calculator. "Really."

"You know we're just going to keep asking until you tell us." Malcolm stood up and sat next to Pete. "Believe me, I'm quite good at being persistent."

"Anyway, we want you to cheer up. You stop eating when you mope; and if you do that, who's going to be the floor's designated recipe guinea pig?"

"I can feel the love." He rolled his eyes and clicked out more lead on his mechanical pencil. "It's stupid, though. I mean, adolescent stupid."

"Does it involve a girl?" Cassie smirked.

Malcolm looked at her, bemused. "A couple of weeks ago you thought he was gay."

"Well I was sadly misinformed and should know better than to listen to anything that comes out of Gil's mouth." She crossed her arms and looked back at Peter. "Seriously though. I mean, you're fourteen. Not like it'd be surprising."

"No. No, it's not that." He set his homework aside and looked at them. "Ever been disappointed by someone you respected?"

"Oh." Malcolm leaned back. "I know what this is."

"What?" Julie sat down. "You're that smart you figured it out from a seven word question?"

"You finally found out what a douche Osborn is, didn't you?"

Peter flushed. "What? Wait, how'd you…"

Malcolm shrugged. "You've been talking about him like crazy and then this week it suddenly stopped. Figured it had to do with him. You know, my older brother Donald was friends with this guy, Edgar, who got an internship at OsCorp. Said that Osborn was fine – from a distance. But once you worked with him he was the boss from hell. It was like being a maid for Naomi Campbell except with verbal abuse instead of getting beaten with a phone. And he apparently doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'intellectual property' except as it applies to him." He looked at Peter sympathetically. "So what'd he do? Try to steal the rights to that AI your dad's been working on?"

"No. Nothing like that, really. He's… not what I expected. That's all."

"You know," Malcolm dropped his voice to a melodramatic whisper, "I hear he killed a kid."

"What?!" Peter looked aghast.

"Nice job Malcolm. Now you've really freaked him out," Julie snapped, kicking him under the table. "He's just pulling shit out of his ass, Peter, don't listen to him. Osborn might be a corporate asshole, but I doubt he's killed anybody, much less a kid."

"I'm serious! Edgar heard the rumor from one of the older lab techs. That years ago Osborn had a kid who suddenly vanished… nobody ever heard from him again and they say that Norman seemed none too upset." He grinned, relishing the prospective spookiness of such a tale. "I'll bet he did something with him. Used him in some weird experiment, maybe dumped him in the Hudson… he's rich enough to pay to keep something like that quiet…"

Peter gaped, unable to say anything for fear that something might slip.

"Ok, now I _know_ that's a crock of crap." Julie laughed. "You can't just make a kid disappear without any legal consequences. And I very much doubt even he's ethically corrupt enough to use a child in an experiment. Seriously, grow up. Edgar and Donald we're probably messing with you and you're just too stupid to realize it." She looked at Peter and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Pete, everybody gets disappointed like this sometimes. I mean, I had to throw out all my Nutella a while back after the Kobe Bryant thing, 'cause I didn't want to own anything he endorsed.

"You'll find out as you get older that a lot of people are like that, ethically dubious or out for themselves. Not saying it's a good or bad thing, only to watch out for it. Osborn might be a scientist but I'm sure that he's first and foremost a businessman. Be careful with any tech or ideas you or your dad might have that you haven't explicitly secured the rights to. But recognize that _all_ businesspeople use corporate tactics. It isn't just him. Hate to disappoint you, but it's kinda the world that operates like that."

She smiled at him, as if she were hoping that her speech had alleviated all of his fears. However, after Malcom's comments, Peter only felt worse and more nervous. He forced a smile however and shrugged again. "I guess you're right. Shouldn't have expected any less, really."

"Come on. Let's play DDR. That'll cheer you up," Cassie offered.

"I'll go ask Tammy if I can snatch her vodka and rum." He grinned. "DDR is at least twice as fun when you're drunk."

"Great. So when the RA comes over to see what all the stomping is about, we can get arrested for giving alcohol to a minor." Cassie punched his arm. "Don't be stupid."

"So what? Pete's age is going to ruin my party?"

"It's fine, I don't care," Pete shrugged.

Cassie frowned, looking doubtful for a moment, but ultimately sighed in resignation. "Fine. But nothing for Pete. He's a lightweight as it is and probably hasn't had anything stronger than root beer. I don't want to be explaining to a future Noble Prize winner how we got his underage son drunk."

"Relax, would you Cass? Nobody's going to give Pete anything, we're not stupid. We're not going to spike your drink," he said to Peter.

"I know that. Like I said, it's fine. Let's just play."

"Alright, anybody got some tape?" Julie dragged out the dance pads and started unfolding them. "Otherwise these things will be sliding all over the place."

"Duncan's got some duct tape, I think. He's always using it to decorate his notebooks and stuff. I'll go ask." Peter took off for his room.

"You know, something's really bugging Peter," Malcolm said when he left.

"Well maybe you shouldn't be planting ideas in his head about his dad's boss being a child murdering psycho." Julie glared as she worked the game disc out of its case. "Pete's so young. He had his first taste of what the world is really like and it was hard for him, that's all. Nothing more than that."

"I guess. Edgar really got to hating Osborn though. It's why he went to Stark's company when he graduated even though OsCorp made an offer."

"Stark? Pft. Like that's any better."

"Enough about companies and employers and all that crap, alright?" Cassie broke in impatiently. "Let's just play some video games and not think about business or psychos or jobs or anything like that."

Peter returned with the tape a moment later and soon they were jumping around and laughing at each other, so much so that even Peter forgot for a moment his unease over Harry and the situation back home.

OOO

OOO

When the day of the dinner finally arrived, Norman Osborn prowled through his apartment, a hunter waiting for his prey to come into view. After tonight we would know for sure; but he doubted that he was mistaken in his supposition. Although it had been years, the boy had his late wife's eyes and mouth. He was the right age, he had the right name more or less and when he looked at the boy the boy was frightened but defiant.

Yes, he knew this boy. He would stake his life on it.

At first he was merely planning to do a scientific confirmation of the boy's paternity after the dinner was done. But when an opportunity to rattle the boy's cage presented itself, Norman couldn't resist. The boy had, after all, run away from him. It was another form of stealing, really, and _nobody_ stole from Norman Osborn without consequences.

With his consent and an elevator key, Otto took Peter down on the elevator to see the laboratory he worked in a few stories below. That left Rosalie and Harry sitting with Norman as dessert was cleaned away from the table. Rosie excused herself to go to the restroom. It was almost amusing, Norman noted, to observe the boy, see him jerk as if to cry out to his 'mother' not to leave him but settle back in his chair resigned.

Norman scraped a fork over the porcelain dessert plate and smirked when Harry's head swiveled towards the sound.

"Such a scared little rabbit," he taunted. "You look so worried. Tell your father what's the matter, _Harold_."

"Shut up." Harry muttered. "I'm not yours, not anymore. You can't have me."

"Stupid boy. I don't want you. Let Octavius put up with your worthless dreams. I have no interest at all."

_Yet._

The rest of the family returned, Peter looking at Harry with slight worry when he realized that Rosalie had left the room. She returned laughing about how labyrinthine the house was and thanking Mr. Osborn for the lovely dinner. They took the elevator down not long after; Harry stood in the corner for the whole ride, looking at the wood paneling in a daze.

It was a scene out of his nightmares, a return to a place he'd come to loathe and mentally disparage. And he wasn't fool enough to believe for even an instant that Norman's professed disinterest. Norman was never uninterested – only opportunistic.

And indeed, back at the penthouse, Norman Osborn plucked a fork carefully from the place where Harry had been sitting, bagging it and taking it down to his lab for testing.

OOO

Once at home, Peter pulled Harry aside.

"What happened? What'd he do?" He looked into Harry's face as if searching for an answer.

"Nothing. He knows. Said he didn't want me – not that I trust that. But nothing really. He didn't hurt me if that's what you're thinking. I mean, not like he could do much. Mom was coming right back."

Peter fidgeted with his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "Harry? If you don't mind my asking, what finally made you run away? What did he do?"

He sighed. "It's more like what he didn't do. He was never there, never cared – I couldn't have named it back then but today I'd say it was contempt. Never held me or hugged me or comforted me. All I wanted to do was get him to look at me, pick me up. The day I ran away…

"The day I decided to run away I'd given him a picture we made in class. He sneered and asked if that was how I spent my time. Told me he wouldn't want such a useless thing. I pushed it towards him again. Begged him to take it. He shouted that he was busy. So I kicked his desk – not that it did anything, the thing was solid mahogany – and pushed everything off his desk. A bunch of ink spilled out of some pen, got all over the carpet, messed all his papers and wrinkled them up.

"He was mad of course. Enraged. Came over and slapped me so hard that I fell down. Then he hauled me up by my shoulders and slammed me against the desk. Told me I was worthless. That I'd killed my mother by being born and that it hadn't been a fair trade. He told me that he'd wanted her to have an abortion, that he didn't want kids but she'd insisted and thanks to her death he was left with me.

"But even with my face stinging and him screaming about how useless I was, how he'd wished I had died instead, even with all of that – my first thought was still to apologize and beg his forgiveness. I wanted to cry but he always despised that. So I was left there, frozen, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do, what I could ever do, to get him to love me.

"And then… and then it came like a light switch being flicked on. _He never would._ No matter what I said or did, even back then I wasn't good enough for him, didn't merit his time or affection. So I gathered what money I could, between allowance I had saved and money that I knew he kept certain places, packed a backpack, hopped a few busses, took a few cabs, got as far away from him as I could get.

"Now I look back and I'm partly amazed I didn't get killed or raped or kidnapped or something. Amazed I got as far as I did, that he didn't find me. And in a way I'm amazed that I had the foresight." He exhaled a short, humorless laugh. "I mean, can you imagine what life would have been like growing up with him? Always trying to please him, never being able to? I'd be a step or two away from mental."

"You would have been a lot richer," Peter pointed out, absently scratching the back of his hand.

"To what end? Dad makes good money. Not like we're wanting or anything. And even if we were, mom and dad love us. I can't remember a single time when Norman ever hugged me. He never made dinner, never went to anything, never thought anything I did was worth something, even as a kid. When I found you and our parents, I found everything I ever wanted. And at first it felt so perfect I thought it couldn't be real, that something was going to go wrong. It wasn't perfect because nothing is. But it was family and affection. And nothing went really wrong – not until now.

"My family is the most important thing I have Pete. And I don't know what I'm gonna do if he tries somehow to take that away."

"He won't. He can't." He laughed. "You know, there's a rumor that he killed you."

"What?"

"One of my floormates was telling me about it. That his brother had a friend who interned with Norman. Said that there was a rumor you had a kid who vanished and the word was that he killed you and paid to keep it quiet."

"Wow. Just… wow."

"I know. I didn't say anything. I mean, most of the other guys thought the rumor was silly. So I left it at that."

"Good." He glanced over. "You won't tell mom and dad about tonight either, right?"

Peter sighed, rubbing his hand against the sheet. "No, Harry."

Harry nodded, and then looked down at Peter's appendage in alarm. "Pete! What's the matter with the back of your hand? I think it's bleeding!"

He lifted it up to examine it and then flushed. "Oh. I must have scratched too hard, torn the skin."

"Scratched too hard? What's the matter? Here let me see." He yanked the hand over and examined it. "Looks like you have a bite of some sort. Might want to show that to mom and dad, get something to put on it."

"Alright." He winced and scratched again. "It's really starting to hurt." He got up and started walking to the door, then slumped against the dresser, halfway turning towards his brother. "Harry? I don't feel so good…"

Though Harry wasn't fast enough to catch him, Peter landed on one of the piles of pillows Harry had strewn about his room. Harry tried to prop him up and felt his brother's burning forehead.

"Pete!"

OOO

A/N: So yeah. Handled it offstage. Hope that works. As for the aftermath of all events and their effects – you'll have to wait and see! So now that you've read, review if you wish and I will do my best to have the next chapter out soon.


	10. The Best Thing Ever

OOO

"Morning sunshine." Harry smiled as he poured syrup over a pile of waffles. "Feeling any better this morning?"

"Only like a pickup ran me over instead of a semi," Peter yawned. "What happened?"

"Nothing bad as what I was worried about. You had a bug bite, got a minor fever, passed out and woke up moments later, woozy. Dad freaked a bit but mom put some kind of baking soda mix on the bite and gave you some Tylenol."

"Oh yeah. That's right. Now I remember."

"And dad made waffles for breakfast but you'd better hurry if you want them before they get cold. I've got the syrup right here – the good stuff that's actually from trees and not just flavored goop – and butter and fruit preserves should be on the sideboard with the waffles."

"Got it," Peter replied as he stacked a few on a plate.

"And hey, aren't you forgetting something?' Harry asked through a mouthful of chewed waffle.

"What's that?" Peter sat down across from him, reaching for the syrup as he sat.

"Uh… glasses?" Harry downed his orange juice. "Aren't you, like, half-blind without them?"

"No, it's not that bad." Peter rolled his eyes then went to the fridge to get the milk. "And I am wearing them."

"Um… no, you're not. Seriously Pete, I'm looking right at you."

"Really?" Setting the carton down, he reached up and felt his face. "But I can see just fine."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "Pete, that makes no sense."

"Maybe I'm still sleepy or something. Let me go get them." Leaving his plate, he ran upstairs but came down moments later, shaking his head. "Nope. They actually make things worse."

"Alright then… weird… does anything else feel out of place?"

"I don't' know." Peter shrugged. "I mean, I'm starting to feel a lot better. More energized. But maybe that's because I've had breakfast."

"Pete, you've barely touched it."

"Well I could eat my waffles if you weren't busy playing twenty questions!" Peter rolled his eyes and began cutting them up.

"You don't think it's even a little weird?" Harry looked at him, incredulous. "I mean, you pass out, wake up and no longer need glasses? You don't think that's the least bit strange?"

"Of course I do, Harry, but I am starving and right now… breakfast."

"Well at least let me see your wrists. You only need one hand to use a fork, right?"

"Here," Peter sighed, stretching his arm across the table. "Happy now?"

Harry peered down at the flesh. "Pete? There's something weird here…" He rubbed his thumb over what appeared to be a small hole or duct in the flesh and without warning got a face full of a white goo. "What the hell!" He ripped at it with his hands before grabbing a bunch of paper towels to clean it off.

"What was that?" Peter whispered.

"I don't know, you tell me! It came out of your wrists!" Harry wadded up the towels and put them in the trash. "Come up, finish your breakfast and we'd better get upstairs. Something is seriously weird here."

"We should get dad." Peter chewed.

"He already left to go run errands." Harry put his dish in the sink. "And I'm not sure that's a good idea anyway."

"What? Why not? If I'm sick, we need to tell dad! What if it's really contagious? We don't even know what caused it!"

"Pete, think about it. That stuff… that stuff looks like webbing. Put it together with the spider bite you got last night, your vision…"

"Harry," he laughed, "you can't seriously think…"

"What else makes sense? And I'll bet you got that bite in the lab. Maybe they were doing experiments, something escaped…"

"Dad did say they were working on spiders, trying to replicate methods, chemicals and so on."

"That's it then! And you know what happens if you tell him."

"What?"

"Pete! Are you serious? He'll probably tell Osborn. Might even take you to him." Harry grimaced. "And then who knows what will happen? If that bite really did change you, he'll probably want to pick you apart. Observe you, experiment on you – maybe even _dissect_ you."

"Harry! He can't do that!"

"He's got shit tons of money, he can do just about anything. At the very least, if word of this gets out, it could ruin your life. You'll have to drop out of MIT and go to one of those weirdo mutant schools outside of the city or something."

"Alright, back up, back up… if it was the bite – which we don't know, but let's say that it was – I could be really sick. I mean, I could get cancer or something like that! This isn't a movie or something, I might be in real danger!"

"Weren't you just telling me you felt a lot better? Besides, I think you can wait a day or two."

"And anyway, how am I supposed to keep something like this from our parents? What if I start shooting that… that stuff out all the time? And won't they notice that I've stopped wearing glasses?"

"Tell them you got contacts!"

"Harry, they're not stupid. Where would I get contacts from?"

"I don't know – the college clinic?"

"Look, this is already getting unnecessarily dangerous and complicated. We'll just tell dad…"

"But then he'll go to Osborn!"

"…_everything_." Peter looked at him as he finished a last bite of waffle. "I don't like hiding things from mom and dad, Harry. We need to tell them sometime."

"Not if it does more harm than good!" He sighed. "Pete, think about it. You want to lose everything because they say you need to be quarantined or something and you end up spending half your life in a lab?"

Peter sighed. "No, I guess not. I suppose I can keep it a secret for a couple days. Say…"

"Yeah?"

"Think I can crawl up walls too?"

"Only one way to find out."

Minutes later, clinging to the star-dotted ceiling of his bedroom, Peter grinned down at Harry. "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me, ever!"

"Fantastic. Now get down from there before you break your neck," Harry grumbled.

"Alright, alright." He edged over to the wall and flipped on to his bed. "Geez, you sound like mom." He stretched out onto his pillows and looked up at the stars. "You know what? I'll bet I'm really good at sports now. Proportional strength of a spider and all that. Think I can lift my desk up?"

"Go right ahead, don't let me stop you."

Walking over and picking it up carefully then setting it down before the pictures slid off, Peter's grin grew broader. "Ok, seriously? This is freaking awesome. Bet I could make the basketball team."

"MIT has a basketball team?" Harry laughed.

"Actually… I'm not sure," Peter blushed. "But any sport I wanted – seriously!"

"Yeah, unless they count freaky mutant spider powers as cheating," Harry pointed out.

"Alright, so maybe I won't try out for anything. Sense of fair play and all that. But don't you think I should do _something_ with it? I mean, stuff like this doesn't happen every day. Seems like it should be of some use for something."

"For what, Pete? What are you going to do?"

"I dunno… maybe be like Batman or something, except for real."

Harry scoffed. "What? Running around the city beating people up? Mom and dad would kill you if they found out. And anyway, don't you think that would do more harm than good?"

"How do you mean?"

"Vigilantism only works in comics, Pete. Not in real life. Real life, crime happens, you need evidence, police work, all sorts of stuff like that. Watch an episode of _Law and Order_ sometime."

"Harry, I hardly think TV is a better example of how life operates than comics."

"I mean it! You would probably be putting yourself in more danger than you were preventing any. And that aside, it would be really dangerous. I mean, you might be strong and all that but I don't think spiders are, to the best of my recollection, bullet proof. What if you get killed? Can you imagine what that would be like for us? You getting killed by some random thug you tried to stop?"

"But with powers like these, surely I could do more. I mean, I could keep from getting shot…"

"Or so you think. Pete, crime isn't funny, it's not something you just punch in the face and it goes down!"

"But aren't our parents always saying we should use our talents?"

"Yeah, they are. Which is _also_ exactly why you shouldn't do this. You're smart Pete. Really, really smart. Like, as smart as our dad smart. You want to risk all that? Even if you don't get killed, you could get a concussion or get your spine severed or something like that. Who knows what you could invent or do if you graduate and become a famous scientist. You'd trade all that potential for stopping some purse snatcher or convenience store robber?

"In the end I just think you're asking for trouble and that will end up doing more harm than good."

"I guess that makes sense." Peter sighed. "But it kinda sucks that now I have all these cool abilities but can't do anything with them."

"Maybe use them for fun?" Harry suggested. "I mean, you know. Run around, play some touch football, maybe even figure out how to work those wrist thingies you seem to have now, crawl an occasional wall. That sort of activity."

"I guess."

"Look, Pete. Just repeat after me. I am not Batman…"

"_What?_ Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. Come on, it's for your own good. I am not Batman…"

"I am not Batman…"

"…and I will not start going around looking for criminals…"

"…and I will not start going around looking for criminals…"

"…or telling anybody about my freakish new powers…"

"Freakish! Harry!"

"Come on! Repeat it or I swear I will pin you down…"

"I doubt you could, now that I apparently have crazy spider powers. But fine. Or tell anybody about my new powers…"

"…because of all the trouble it would cause."

"…because of all the trouble it would cause."

"Now there. Now that you've said it, doesn't it sound more reasonable?"

"I already _said_ it made sense, Harry." He stood up. "And I need to pack to get back."

"You're sure you have a grip on everything? And you're not going to freak out on me or something?"

"I will be fine. If I get radiation sickness or something, though, that's on you. You were the one who persuaded me to keep quiet about this whole thing – which I still don't think is a good idea."

"Only a few days Pete. You can wait that long, right? Test it out, just to see? And if you really begin to get sick… you can call or something I guess. Alright?"

"Alright." Then he grinned mischievously and squirted a blob of webbing in Harry's face. "But just so you know, I'll be doing that from time to time now."

"What! Why? What was that for?!"

"Just to harass you," Peter said with a smirk and a shrug.

"Damn it Pete!" Wheeling, Harry sucked into the bathroom to try and peel it off before their parents noticed.

OOO

"You look wiped, Harry. Have a lot of homework over the weekend?"

"Morning Virginia. No more than usual," Harry replied, throwing down his bag. "What's up? Where is everybody? Shouldn't we be working on the set?"

"Ozzy's off getting the power tools I think, Nick is probably screwing Allison in the sound booth, Dori is getting the paint, don't know where Walter is yet… Oh, and did you see the poster that Mr. Ware put up on the bulletin board?"

"Not yet. What's it about?"

"Some local theater is casting a bunch of kids for a production of _Jesus Christ, Superstar_. He's encouraging us all to try out, maybe get some experience with acting outside of school. It's supposed to be a teen production so they'll have all the practices after school hours. Thought I'd mention it to you, make sure you knew."

"Thanks. You trying out?"

"Me? Pft. Please. I can act well enough and I'm solid for anything that needs doing with the crew but my singing is absolutely in the dumper. You, though…" She grinned. "I think you'd be perfect. Especially for that musical."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. You've got a great voice. Plus this real 'James Dean' vibe if you're in the right light. You'd be awesome as Judas."

"You really think I look like James Dean?"

"Like I said, right light, sure. Him or that one guy from 'Freaks and Geeks.'"

"Got the tools!" a blond boy pushed through the door, interrupting their conversation. "Think you and Harry could get the lumber Gin? It's in my truck outside." He looked up towards the dim sound booth. "And Nick, Ally, you two had better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

"Maaaybe…"

"You are seriously going to get expelled one of these times!" He shouted back. "Come on, let's get sanding so we can start putting together the frames and painting them. I'd like to have the baker's house and the tower built by this weekend at least. Fucking Sondheim," he grumbled.

"At least we're not singing like Harry here is," Virginia pointed out. "The man can't seem to compose an uncomplicated melody to save his life. And the word play – I don't know if he thinks he's being clever or what, but it just doesn't work for me."

"It's not so bad." Harry shrugged as they went down the hall to get the two by fours. "You get used to it."

"Anyway, if you do decide to try out let me know how it goes. I'm sure you'll get a real mixed bag of actors and invariably some of the local high school prima donnas will turn out for it. But who knows? Maybe one of them will have talent."

"Maybe. But I doubt it." Harry grabbed an armful of boards and toted them in while Gin held back the door. "If they did, they'd probably be here."

OOO

"I'm sorry sir," Stromm apologized for the seventh time. "But the results of the experiment are the results of the experiment, there's nothing we can do about that!"

"Then tell them to go back! Tweak the formula, tweak the results – we need to have this ready by the time the military representatives get here!" Norman thundered and glared. "I won't accept failure, Stromm!"

"I know, sir, I know…"

OOO

A/N: Another week, another chapter. So Peter won't be donning red and blue long johns just yet, thanks to Harry's convincing. He'll get there though. Given the right impetus. Promise. ;) Also, there is a naming scheme to the OC's around Harry as well (just so you know) and - for those interested - a crossover story of mine in the Harry Potter section, "Legacy," now has a couple Spidey characters added to it (Peter, Harry and Harry's son Normie for now). So if you're at all interested you can check that out too. And with that - off to working on updates for all the other fics I've promised to update. :)


	11. Turning Wheels

OOO

"Going out already?" Rosie glanced at Peter who was headed for the door. "But you've barely unpacked!"

"I know; but I promised I'd meet Harry at his auditions!" He blew her a kiss from the doorway. "Be back with Harry at dinner!"

Zipping up his jacket as he went, Peter made his way down to the subway, squeezing in between the crowds of people coming home from work. As he gripped a pole, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, checking the address that Harry had said to meet him at then checking the map on the car's wall to check what stop he needed.

When he made it inside, the boys were sitting off to one side while the girls were closer to the stage, mulling about as they each went through the scales in turn. Harry was leaning back in one of the red upholstered chairs, humming to himself as he flipped through sheets of music while keeping one eye on the girls' performances.

"Hey Harry." Peter sat beside him. "How's it going?"

"Eh, not bad. Think I'm doing pretty – not that my guesses are anything to go by. There's more than one good guy here."

"I'm sure you'll get it. Positive." Peter grinned. "I mean, you're the best, Harry!"

"Dope." Harry punched him and sat up. "So how was the week at school? Nothing bad happening? No… you know… issues?"

"Nope. Three weeks and feeling fit and fine – better than ever even." He laughed. "Fact, I have to work sometimes to keep a low profile."

"Really?"

"I almost blew it the other day. We all went over to Cambridge to that burger cottage place you like – you know the one with the sweet potato fries and all the bumper stickers on the walls? Anyway, while we were there, Gil picked a fight with a couple of Harvard guys. Long story short, we all got into it and I ended up nearly putting one through a wall."

"Seriously?" Harry laughed. "Sweet!"

"Yeah, well it kinda sucked getting thrown out. I think my friends would have been more suspicious but we were a little more worried about getting arrested at that point. A day in court with a bunch of future lawyers – bad idea. And I'm not going back for a while, at least until they forget what I look like."

"Has anybody noticed anything about your glasses yet?"

"What, that they're just costume pieces you found? Not yet. But it's probably a good thing that I don't live at home or else mom would have noticed by now. I'm trying to keep a bit of a distance from her." He sighed. "We really do need to tell them."

"All things in good time Pete. And… it looks like I'm up. See you in a bit."

"Break a leg!"

As Harry went up to the stage and the girls filed back, Peter caught sight of something that made him sit up at attention. A red-head was making her way back her place in the audience, gathering up her things to leave – a familiar face, even though it had been years since Peter had ever seen her on a stage. Hoping she wouldn't think him too creepy, he went over to her.

"Mary Jane?" He asked. "Mary Jane Watson?"

She looked over at him, curious. "Do I know you?"

"Peter Parker." He ran his hand through his hair. "That's how you would have known me way back when. I probably sound like such a dork right now but I used to live next to you with my aunt and uncle. We went to the same grade school."

Her eyes lit up with recognition and she clasped her hands together, though remembering to keep her voice down. "Now I remember!" She giggled. "You made me a paper flower after the school play."

"Yeah! You were _really _great."

"I was five!"

"Even so…" He laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just so weird seeing you again."

"I know! You just… disappeared. What on earth happened? Did you move?"

"Kinda. My… my aunt and uncle died and a wreck and I got put into the foster system in Texas."

"Ohmigod, I am _so_ sorry," MJ gasped. "So that's why you said, about your name... I didn't mean…"

"It's OK," he assured her. "I know. It really did work out alright though. I got adopted by a really great set of parents and got a brother, too." He pointed towards the stage. "In fact, I'm here to see him audition."

"Really? Which one's he?"

"Harry, the one with the curly hair standing between the blond kid and the shorter red head."

"Oh, him!" She nodded. "He's really good. I heard him singing earlier. He's got a real chance."

"Well I'll bet whatever the lead female role is…"

"Mary Magdalene," she provided.

"…I'll bet you'll get cast as her."

"You're sweet." She sighed. "I can only hope."

They fell into talking about what they'd been doing over the years, barely noticing when Harry came over. He looked at Peter and plastered a smile on his face.

"Hey Pete. Who's this?"

"Oh, hey Harry! This is Mary Jane. We used to live near each other in New York, back when we were kids. Even went to school together." He chuckled. "Isn't that weird, running into her again after all this time?"

"Yeah. Weird. Say, Pete? You think you could help me practice my lines when we get home?"

"Yeah, sure Harry." He nodded but looked at Harry's tensed expression curiously. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, just tired. Come on, let's get home."

He pulled Peter out of the theater and down the street.

"What's wrong? You're acting kinda weird."

"Like I said, I'm tired and a bit nervous. So! Know what we're having for dinner yet?"

OOO

A lighter sleeper than her husband, Rosie was the one who heard the phone when it rang. She picked it up and leaned against the headboard, whispering so as not to wake her husband.

"Hello? Yes. I see. No, he's here. Sleeping. Well of course… right now? Is that really necessary? How bad… No, I understand. I'll tell him. He should be there. I can't promise. Well I'll try. Yes, I see that it's urgent… look. He will be there." With a worried sigh, she pressed the button to hand up and placed it back in its cradle. "Otto, dear?"

"Mmmmph."

"Otto," she shook him again, "you need to wake up. There's been an accident at the lab."

"What?" He turned a bleary gaze towards her. "Lab?"

"Yes dear." She drew in a breath. "Dr. Stromm's been killed. Something happened in one of the laboratories and for some reason the police are having trouble getting in contact with Osborn. They're hoping to find somebody fairly high up in the chain who would know what was going on in the lab, if anything is dangerous or something like that. And they want to question people Stromm might have worked with."

Otto frowned. "I didn't work with Stromm. He was doing biotech, nothing at all like what I was working on."

"I know. Still, perhaps it's best if you get dressed and head over to see what's happened? Anything you can do that might be of help…"

He sighed. "I know." Standing, he rubbed his eyes then went to the closet to dig out a shirt. "If this was something he was doing on the side it's going to be an absolute fiasco. Bad press – not to be insensitive, but it's the last thing the company needs."

"They were floating around the word murder. Do you think it could be true?"

"Of Stromm?" He frowned. "The man was sycophantic at times and could be aggravating but I didn't think he had any enemies. No family that I knew about, though I never really knew him apart from work. Can't imagine anybody wanting him dead though."

"Perhaps it wasn't him," she whispered nervously. "You know what some radicals can be like. What they do to labs, to researchers. Was there anything… I mean, is OsCorp doing anything that might, you know…"

Tugging on a belt, Otto sat back down on the bed and kissed her. "It will be alright. It's tragic but I'm sure it was only an accident. There's nobody out to get OsCorp and nobody out to hurt me or any of the other scientists there. Besides, most of what we work on is classified. There would be no way for fringe groups to even find out what we were conducting experiments on – and I hardly think they could breach building security so easily. Now try to get some rest and I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Shutting the door behind him, Otto left his wife in darkness to stare at the ceiling and shift in the suddenly empty bed. She pulled the covers closer and touched the impression where his body had been, missing his warmth and worrying all the same.

OOO

"Harry!" A girl ran up to him in the hall. "Harry, I heard what happened where your dad works! Is he okay?"

He nodded. "He's fine, Dori. It wasn't his lab that had all that trouble anyway. It was something else. Nothing he was wrapped up in."

The girl breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. I mean, I know we'd have probably heard something if he was, but it's still nice to hear you say it. Your dad's a nice guy, didn't want to see anything bad happen to him." He grinned. "But on a cheerier note – I heard you got cast as Judas!"

"I did! It was a bit of a surprise – there were a couple guys there with more experience – but I can't say that I'm not glad I got it. It'll be a bit of extra work but I think it's going to be a really good experience."

"I'll say. Do you know anybody else who's in the cast?"

"Not really. There's this one girl, kinda, who's in the chorus…"

"Oh?" Dori smirked. "Harry, do I sense a little chemistry here?"

"No!" He laughed. "Not at all. She sorta knew my brother from way back when, when he was a kid living here."

"That's right." She slapped her forehead. "I keep forgetting that your brother's from around here originally. Must be nice. When my parents and I first moved up here so I could go to school, I didn't know my way around anywhere. Practically got lost on my way here each day for the first couple weeks. It probably helped a lot to have him to explain things and guide you."

"Yeah, it did."

"So anyway, this chick – she any good? And I mean at acting," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Eh, not really. Has no breath control at all, lacks volume – I'm a bit surprised she made the female chorus, but there it is. Pete thinks she's great, but Pete…"

"…thinks everybody's great," she finished with a laugh. "I know. I've seen him at the performances snapping pictures. I swear, he has a compliment for everybody."

"An incorrigible optimist."

"How's he getting along at college?"

"Pretty well. Puts me to shame," Harry said with a playful grin.

"Yeah, right," she laughed. "You're talented and you know it, don't even pretend like you aren't! Anyway, I need to get to class. Just wanted to catch up with you make sure everything was alright. See you at rehearsal!"

"See you!" He waved as they split up and went into different classrooms

OOO

Norman Osborn paced his office like a tiger in a case, agitated and furious and throwing back bourbon. Nothing was proceeding the way that it was supposed to go, happening like it should happen. The experiment was supposed to secure his company, not wrench it out of his hands! He went through such effort to smooth the whole Stromm affair over only to be confronted by this? A pack of decrepit old men thinking they could take away everything he'd worked all of his life to build? Damned if he would let that happen.

He had the tools, though, he reasoned. He had the tools to prevent it now that he knew the serum worked. The old fools would, as trite as it sounded even in his mind, regret the day that they crossed him, he vowed. They would see what it was to make him angry, feel the unbridled brunt of his fury. Without even consciously noticed, he smashed the glass he was holding, paying no heed to the trickles of blood running down his hand.

The fair. That would be it. The perfect place to make a very public demonstration. And once he'd regained control of his company, put an end to the laughable buyout that they were attempting to set in motion – then he could focus on the real issues at hand.

Of course, it wouldn't be easy. Even with his strength, the glider was at best an experimental craft. They'd done some work in ballistics as well, but nothing extremely advanced, only basic explosives and the like. Apart from that, there were many, many people involved in some of the other research and development areas who might very well recognize the equipment if they saw somebody using it. He could dress up the glider, the explosives, distract them, but anything too familiar and he ran the risk of discovery.

No, he reasoned, the best thing would be to come up with weapons from relative scratch. Something he himself created so that nobody else would recognize it.

Or… or…

His face lit up with the satisfaction of an idea flashing into his mind and he went to his desk, getting a new glass, pouring another drink and pulling out the results of Harry's paternity test. Looking at it with a grim satisfaction and feeling the liquor burn down his throat, he leered. The answer was sitting right in front of him. He could have a genius on his side, a genius who could design whatever he wanted or demanded – because after all, he had a surefire method to guarantee his complete silence and complicity.

If anything went wrong, of course, he could always kill Octavius. But he doubted that he would need to resort to that. Norman prided himself on his ability to perceive character easily, and he could spot a weakness and exploit it if necessary. Above all else, Otto Octavius loved his family and would never do anything to endanger them, would not stand to see them torn apart.

He would revenge himself on those who would take away from him all he had earned and would do so with Octavius' cooperation, the scientist's love for his son fashioned into a sword of Damocles.

OOO

A/N: As you just read, lots of plot development going on so things will be getting rather exciting and dramatic over the next few chapters! Also, I know I've fiddled with the timeline a bit – Peter and Harry are 14/15ish rather than in senior year (roughly Peter's age in the original comic). I did this to keep the story focused on the family, since there are opportunities and threats that come from having them a bit younger that wouldn't be present if they were graduating. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and feel free to leave a review with comments, criticisms, questions or whatever else you feel like!


	12. Matters of the Heart

OOO

"I must say," Otto smiled as he kicked off his shoes, "that the kitchen smells lovely, Mrs. Octavius."

Rosie walked over to greet him with a kiss. "I though I would make a little something for dinner. Oh! And I bought a new blend of tea today. It's really quite delicious and aromatic – would you like a cup?"

"Always." He slumped down in a kitchen chair, unbuttoning his coat.

"You look stressed, dear," she observed while pouring.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. This and that." He took the floral china cup she offered and puffed on the surface. "All that mess with Stromm and they're still not sure what happened. The problem seems to have gone away, but still…" He sighed. "And…" he glanced at Rosalie. "Well, I suppose it's nothing, really."

"Otto." She sat down in an adjacent chair and clasped his hand when he set down the cup. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing to worry about. But there's… there's talk of a takeover." He frowned. "There have been rumors that the military branch of the company has been underperforming, that they won't be able to get the government contract that they thought they would. Of course this is all rumor," he assured her. "But if we don't… to be frank, OsCorp will be in financial trouble and might be bought out."

Rosalie nodded. "If it does, what will that mean for us?"

"Hopefully nothing." He sipped his tea, fidgeting with the saucer. "My research is still promising and doing well. Even if we were bought out, there are no signs that it would be abated. And if the new company wouldn't be interested in fusion work, we do have options. Plus I still have the arms and all relevant patents to both them and their AI. Which is something." He finished off the tea and pushed the cup to the center of the table. "No need to worry about anything just yet, though. Norman Osborn is a shrewd man; I'm sure he'll explore every possibility he has before letting the company slip away."

Clearing the table off, Rosalie rinsed out the cup. As she worked, Otto watched, seeing the sun from the window above the sink lend her hair a muted luster. Walking softly, he came up behind her and kissed her neck.

"Otto!" She half-turned, a smile curving her lips.

"How ever did I get so lucky?" He murmured.

"Oh, I don't know." She continued to rinse the dishes off and put them aside. "You can be quite charming when you wish to be." Drying her hands, she turned and kissed him. "And when you're not fretting."

"I'll try to avoid that, then." He brushed back wisps of her hair, still haloed by the sunlight.

"Tell you what." She encircled his waist. "Why don't I get Peter tonight? Give you a night off, let you spend some time with Harry."

"Fine!" He pulled away in mock offense. "I see!"

"Let me finish…" She pressed a finger to his lips. "I'll go get Peter. But until it's time to leave, since Harry has rehearsal, maybe we could try out something else I picked up today."

"Oh, I don't know." He feigned a belabored sigh. "I might be too tired. Science, you know. Takes a lot of energy."

She slapped him playfully on the arm. "The day science has made you too tired for me is the day we get a separation."

"Well when you put it like that…" He lifted her up off of her feet, into his arms.

"Otto!" She shrieked.

"Don't think it'll last though," he panted. "Not sure I can make it up the stairs like this."

Laughing, she slid out of his arms, setting her feet on the floor. "Well maybe when we get upstairs you can carry me across the threshold into our bedroom."

"An acceptable compromise." His teeth flashed as he smiled and took his wife's hand, leading her up the stairs.

OOO

"Alright. Judas, disciples, take a break. We're going to work on blocking the dance for Herod's song." He director looked over at them. "Don't go too far though. The 'What's the Buzz' sequence still needs a lot of work."

Leaping off the stage with a nod, Harry bounded over to his backpack to squeeze in some homework while he waited. Before long, though, he found himself interrupted.

"So, is your brother coming again today?"

He froze and composed his face to give the girl leaning over his shoulder what he hoped was a look that conveyed 'go away.' "Aren't you supposed to be on stage?"

"Half of us are learning at a time. I'm in the second group."

"Well I'm doing work. And no, for the third Friday in a row, he isn't coming. He wanted to spend a little time in Boston with his friends there so he asked our parents to pick him up later tonight." Ignoring her, Harry began answering the questions at the end of the chapter. Then, pausing, he gave her another glare. "He's in college you know."

"I know. He told me." She looked uncertain.

"Did he tell you he's in MIT?" Harry spoke deliberately, as if she would have trouble understanding. '_And that he's too good for you?'_ was the unspoken addition.

Though he hadn't said what he wished aloud, the girl seemed to know what he was thinking. She stood and tossed her red hair in anger. "You know, you're a real jerk," she snapped.

"And you're a man-eater and a two-bit talent from a city school who's been deluded into thinking she's better than she is." He snapped the history book shut. "I've seen enough of you onstage to know that much."

She scoffed. "You two _must_ be adopted. Peter's so nice; he could have never ended up with a brother like you."

The look he gave her was pure venom. "Yeah, Pete's nice. Which is why he needs to be kept away from people like you." He turned around in his seat and stood, looming over her if only by a couple of inches. "And if you say anything about our adoption again, I'd don't care if I get kicked out and replaced with some understudy, I will fucking punch you in the face."

Tinged red with anger, Mary Jane went back into the aisle and stormed past him onto the stage.

OOO

When Harry finally reached home, he stepped back in surprise upon seeing his father sitting at the kitchen table.

"Dad?" He threw his backpack down in the hallway. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you have left already to get Pete?"

"Your mother is picking him up tonight." He flipped through a recipe book. "Thought she'd give me a break. Care to help me find something to make for dinner for when they get back? Still another couple hours but we should probably get started."

"Sure." He swung the fridge open and grabbed a Dr. Pepper. "Anything you're thinking about?" He asked, leaning over his dad's shoulder to look at the book, wrinkling his nose as he did. "And why do you smell like… chocolate?" He looked down at his father, who was blushing, causing Harry to blush in turn. "Second thought, I don't want to know." He straightened up. "So, how about stuffed chicken breasts? I though I saw a package in there."

Otto quickly nodded. "Perhaps with a side of mashed potatoes and a salad?"

"Sounds look. I'll start washing off the potatoes and the veggies."

"Alright, then." Otto went into the fridge and pulled out the cheese to begin making the stuffing. "How was your rehearsal, by the way?" He asked, opening a cupboard and reaching for a bowl.

Harry shrugged as he pulled out a bag of potatoes and took the scrubber out of the utensil drawer. "I'm doing well. Got a lot of my lines memorized already. The blocking's been a bit rough. I'm getting it down and most of the other leads are but the chorus keeps messing up. We've been doing the group numbers five, six times in a row and it gets a bit old after a while."

"Practice does make perfect. I'm sure if you keep working at it…"

"Yeah, I know. Hard work and you'll get there and all that jazz."

"Good to know you listen to me so well," Otto replied with just a hint of sarcasm.

"It's pretty annoying though. And there's this girl, some chick Peter knew back when he was a kid…"

"Yes, he told me. Mary Jo I think her name was?"

"Mary Jane," Harry corrected as he turned on the faucet.

"That's it. She seemed nice from what he described. Thought he wanted to get to know her again."

"And you think that's a good idea?" Harry's voice belied his disbelief. "I mean, come on."

"Just because he lives in Boston doesn't mean that he can't make friends here, Harry, you know that."

"Yeah, but – _her?_" He scrubbed the potato he was working on so vigorously the skin began to peel off.

"Not up to you what kinds of people Peter makes friends with," Otto reminded him in a soft tone that conveyed only the slightest hint of warning. "I trust that he has good judgment and that she's a nice enough girl."

"She's an untalented diva! And she's a who... a flirt." He set aside the cleaned potato on a towel and began working on another. "I don't want to see Peter get hurt, is all. He thinks the best of everybody."

"That might seem foolhardy Harry – but perhaps it's a courtesy we all could stand to extend towards others a little more often. As for this girl," he said with a smile, "Peter knows his feelings better than you. And sometimes feelings can lead to pain. But it's not up to you to shield him from that. Some lessons must be learned on one's own."

"I guess," Harry grumbled. "Don't see why he has to be interested in _her_ though."

"Well, as your mother can tell you, the heart is a strange thing."

Harry rolled his eyes and started peeling the potatoes he'd cleaned, still not any happier about Mary Jane wondering where Peter was – or about the fact that Peter was hoping to see her again too.

OOO

"Oh, and Pete?" Malcolm licked ice cream off of his spoon. "Not to say I told you so – but I told you so."

"About what?" Peter set down the bag from the aquarium – he'd gotten his father a shirt from the gift shop that said 'octopus wrestling' in honor of their nickname for his mechanical arms – and sat next to his friends at the wrought-iron table.

"About Osborn," he smirked. "Bet he was behind that whole thing in the lab. All hushed up now, though…"

Peter went pale. "Don't say things like that!"

"Yeah, Malcolm, you dick." Cassie kicked him under the table. "Pete's dad could have been hurt in that accident! Way to be a complete, insensitive jackass."

"Hey!" He held his hands up defensively. "I'm just saying!"

"Well could we talk about something else?" Peter took a bite of his sundae, bothered. It didn't sit well with him that the police still didn't know exactly what had gone on in the lab, and lingering fears about Norman Osborn together with Harry's description of him were more than enough to make Peter suspicious about the whole matter. Not that he could do anything about it – nothing but worry for his father and Harry, anyway. "I hear more than enough about it each time I go home."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, Malcolm got a C on his last diff-e-q test," Julie informed him, taking a sip of her root beer float.

"Pft. Only because I stayed up the night before playing Halo instead of studying."

"Well, when you can major in Halo and get a job with that, you let me know. The thousands of other college washouts who have that as their only skill will be very eager to hear about that, I'm sure."

"Could happen. Video game tester or something."

"Yeah, right. Even you know enough math to calculate the statistical probability of that one." Julie rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of which, there's a big stats test coming up next Thursday and a bunch of us were going to study Wednesday evening in the library. You up for it, Pete?"

"I guess." He chewed a gooey spoonful of vanilla bean ice cream coated with hot fudge and sprinkles. "As long as I have all my homework for the next day done."

"Don't you do it, like, three days ahead of time?" Malcolm looked at him, teasing. "At least when the syllabus tells you what to do?"

"Nothing wrong with getting a head start," Peter rejoined, a touch defensively.

"Maybe if you took a lesson, you'd have Peter's grades," Cassie shot back.

"What? And drop in the ranks on X-Box Live? No thank you."

"Good to see you have your priorities straight," Cassie laughed.

"Always."

"Anyway, I need to get back." Peter scraped the last of his ice cream out of the cup. "It's getting kinda late and I'm supposed to meet my mom at my dorm room about seven."

"Shoot. We better get going then." Julie pushed away from the table.

"Relax." Malcolm tossed their trash into a nearby can and stuck his hands in his pockets. "The T-station is right over there. We'll get you back in no time."

They ambled down the brick-paved walk, chatting about upcoming tests and their heavy homework loads, the penguins they had seen that day and the movie a group of them were planning to see the next week. The setting sun cast an orange glow over their surroundings, stretching to the ocean, and for a moment everything was perfect.

It was almost enough to even drive the persistent, worrisome shadow that was Norman Osborn from Peter's mind, if only for the moment.

OOO

A/N: So a little more Otto this chapter, a little more character development and not quite so much open conflict – but that will be coming very, very soon. :) Couldn't resist throwing in a little more fluff, but the tough situations are impeding, I promise. Until then, I hope you enjoyed and that you'll do me the kindness of giving a little feedback.

Added A/N (4/25): There's now a poll up regarding the arms. I have a couple plots in my head for the way things could go but I would like a little feedback. (And on an unrelated note - the aquarium in Boston does sell t-shirts that say Octopus Wrestling. You know. In case you wanted one. :) )


	13. Manipulations

OOO

Peter tossed his overnight bag into the back seat and slid into the shotgun seat next to his mother.

"Sorry I'm late. Lost track of time in Boston," he apologized bashfully.

"That's alright sweetie; I had an errand to run anyway. Did you have a good time in the city?"

"Oh yeah." He grinned. "And I got dad a shirt! Look!" Reaching back, he dug around in his duffle and lifted up the shirt proudly. "Get it? Because he calls those arms he uses his octopus suit? Isn't that cool?"

"Very thoughtful," she agreed as he stuffed the shirt back into the bag. "I'm sure your father will love it."

"Speaking of dad – where is he? Not that I don't want you picking me up," he quickly added apologetically.

"I offered. Thought it would give him a night off and let us spend some time together."

Peter grinned and sank back in his seat. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"If I wanted to, you know, talk to this girl… I mean, what do you think I should do?"

"Is this the girl from Harry's play?"

He nodded. "Harry doesn't like her much," he said in a disappointed tone. "But I think she's really pretty and nice."

"Go by your own instincts then. Make sure, though, that it's not simply a pretty face that's got you interested," she told him in a casual but warning tone. "You probably wouldn't be happy spending time with somebody who couldn't relate to you." She glanced behind her and switched lanes. "Look at your father and I. I might have been an English major and he might have been a scientist but we understood each other's passion." Glancing down at her son, she gave him a smile before refocusing on the road. "As long as you have that – you'll be fine."

"And what should I say to her? I mean," he blushed, "I'm not sure how to approach her."

"Be yourself. That's the best advice I could give. And if you're looking for some tried and true advice – poetry."

"Poetry," he repeated.

"It might sound cliché, but it worked for your father and me. Of course, I was predisposed with a love of T.S. Eliot. Do you know what she likes?" She asked after a pause.

"Acting, I know that. She wants to be an actress on Broadway."

"In that case I would suggest acting Harry for advice – he's got a very thorough knowledge of plays."

"Yeah, but like I said – he _really_ doesn't like her."

"Do you know why that is?"

Peter shrugged. "I can't tell really. The first time we ran into her he got all weird and edgy."

"I see."

"And now whenever I talk about her, he always brings up how untalented he thinks she is and how shallow."

Rosalie nodded. "And what do you think?"

"I don't know!" He sighed. "She seems nice enough to me. And I thought she was a good actress. But every time I bring her up in conversation he gets all huffy and snaps at me and tells me that she's 'not the right kind of girl,' whatever that is."

"Ah. I'll talk to him, then. But are you sure there's nothing to what he says? Harry does spend a lot more time around her than you do," she pointed out. "And he has fairly good personal instincts."

"Well… maybe. I don't know. Still…" He bit his lip. "She's really beautiful. And when she smiles, it's like the whole room lights up for me."

"She sounds like a very lovely young lady."

"She is. I wish you could see her yourself."

"I will though – remember? When I go to Harry's performance."

"Is it that soon?"

"Five weeks." She took a ramp and merged with the traffic. "Time goes by faster than you'd expect, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Yeah, it does."

When they reached home, they found dinner waiting – the food Otto and Harry had cooked, along with the cake that Rosalie had bake earlier in the day. Pushing aside any thoughts of Mary Jane for the moment, Peter greeted his brother as they went up to their room to get cleaned up.

"You look pleased," Otto remarked. "Did something happen on the ride there?"

"Peter and I had a very good conversation is all." She smiled.

"I know that look," he teased. "You're hiding something from me!" He quirked an eyebrow. "Rosalie? What's going on?"

She laughed. "I'll tell you later. Let's finish dinner for now, before it gets cold – and before it's midnight," she suggested as they were rejoined by the boys.

"Alright. But don't think I'll forget about this," he warned her playfully.

OOO

"I just don't think it's a good idea," Harry said as he flipped through the CDs in front of him.

"And I think you're overreacting," Dori told him, looking at the back of a box to see the track listing. "He's interested in getting to know her, that's all. Not like he's going to disown his family or something." She looked over at him. "You have to admit, Harry, you have separation issues. Not being attached at the hip doesn't mean Peter doesn't care about you."

"That's what my mom said. Or something like it." He sighed. "She's everything I hate in an actress, though!"

"Didn't know you liked actresses," Dori smirked.

"Stop that." He frowned. "Just because I'm not a serial dater like Alison is…"

"What's she up to this year? Five, already?"

"Something like that. Anyway, just because I'm not like that doesn't mean anything."

"Have you _ever _had a date, Harry?" She asked with a little laugh.

He shrugged. "So I move slowly. So what? Better than going out with a tramp."

"Is she _really_ a tramp, Harry? Or is that just your jealousy that somebody else might have a claim on Peter's time coming through?"

"It's true!" He sighed as he checked the price of an album. "If you met her, you'd know what I was talking about."

"Maybe. So I take it that's where he is this afternoon?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "She managed to corner him while I was rehearsing yesterday and they agreed to go catch a movie."

"You make it sound like she was a stalker." Dori walked over and patted him on the back. "It's not as bad as you think it is. It's perfectly normal and I'm sure she's a perfectly alright girl. Besides, don't sweat it too much. You know what most relationships are like. Three months from now and he probably won't even remember her phone number."

"You obviously don't know Peter," he replied, making a selection. "I think I've got what I want. Are you good?"

"Sure. Where do you want to go after this?"

"Well, I'm a bit hungry but not very," he said as he handed his purchases to the cashier. "Do you want to go somewhere and get dessert? Pastries or ice cream or something? You know, just a snack somewhere we can relax for a while."

"Only if it's not too fattening," she teased.

"Like you worry about that," he rejoined with a grin.

"Hey, I've only got so long on this earth and I'd rather go out early with a mouth full of cannoli than die at 90 eating salad the whole time."

"Well said."

OOO

"You asked to see me sir?" Otto stepped into the expansive office, more curious than nervous. It was well acknowledged that it would be some time before his research would have anything publicly marketable to offer so, despite his prestige and prominence within the company, he was rarely called to consult with Norman who focused more on the business side of the corporation.

"Close the door," Norman ordered in an edged tone. "I want privacy for this."

Shutting it carefully, he neared the desk when Norman motioned him over. "What is this about?"

Tossing a packet of papers in front of Otto, Norman tapped his finger on the blueprints. "I want you to leave your position – briefly – and focus on a… side project… away from the fusion reactor."

Picking them up, Otto scanned through the vaguely sketched out plans. "Weapons design?" He frowned. "That's not my area of specialty. You know that. Who would I be working with? And what are the deadlines?"

"Nobody. You'll work alone on this. And I will need them within a fortnight. You are to tell nobody about any of this. It's completely confidential."

Octavius frowned. "With all due respect sir – what is this about? What precisely are you asking me to do here?"

Norman turned towards him with a toothy smile and a gaze that verged on the emerald. "You're a genius Otto. Don't tell me you can't figure that one out."

Nauseated, Otto threw the papers aside. "Stromm… that was you, wasn't it? You… you've been testing that formula for the government on yourself."

"Smart boy," Norman smirked. "Now what do you say Otto? Help me?"

"You must be crazy," he backed away. "I don't even want to know what you want these for! Explosives, armor, weaponry… what are you planning?" No longer feeling safe, he tried to edge towards the door.

"They're going to take my company from me, Octavius." His face was set with anger, coupled with determination. "What would you do? What would you do if it were your life's work – your arms, your generator…"

"Not this!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I wouldn't kill anybody!"

"Oh, not kill." Norman smiled, silky but disingenuous. "Merely… persuade."

"I came to this company to help people, not to assist you in making your own private arsenal!" Otto snapped. "And what you've already done… I'm going to the police about Stromm."

"I thought you might say that." Norman opened a drawer in his desk. "That's why I took the liberty of getting this done. Might want to have a look before we engage in a my word against yours battle with the police." Otto's hand rested lightly on the door handle. "I wouldn't do that Otto. Not if you care at all about Harry."

"Harry?" He turned. "What does my son have to do with any of this?" He frowned. "You'd better not be…"

"He's not your son, though, is he?" Osborn taunted, shoving the DNA results into Otto's face. "He's mine. And I think it's about time that I exerted my natural rights as a parent."

"This is a fake!" Otto replied, glancing through the results.

"Really?" Norman smirked. "Would you bet his life on that? Because it will be his life."

Otto's hands started to shake, causing the paper to rustle. He wanted to deny it further but too much fell into place, to much made sense with this information. Harry's anger at their move, his reluctance, his unease… "We legally adopted him!" Otto shot back. "There's nothing you can do to take him away from us!"

"Idiot," he sneered. "Did you think I would waste my time making idle threats? I have legal standing. Yes, you adopted him. But I, as his only remaining natural parent was never given the opportunity to contest the adoption. No agency ever contacted me, I was never informed that Harold had been found – until now of course. And I thank you for going through the trouble of educating him. Granted he's got some unfortunate tendencies that will need to be corrected. I don't intend to have some starving artist for an heir.

"Of course, it is very likely at this point that he is… intractable. In which case I might have to resort to other methods of dealing with him. I'll leave the details to your imagination. But I assure you, by the time I am through with him, one way or another, he will be my Harold and not yours."

Drawing in a deep breath, Otto forced himself to look at Norman. "No court would ever award you custody! Not with what you've said here. Besides, you abused him! He told us about what you did!"

"Exaggeration. The melodramatic words of a pouting child who cannot accurately remember what life was truly like and eventually convinced himself that his angry fantasies were true. Besides, there is no evidence for any of what you suggest, now or then. There are no medical reports, no allegations filed against me. All you have is the word of a six-year-old nearly a decade later and something I might have _allegedly_ said to you. Which my lawyer will, of course, spin as merely drawing on Harold's original, misguided claims in a desperate attempt to keep Harold. "

Grinning again, he neared Octavius. "Of course, you could refuse and let me have him. But that's not like you, is it? Fools like you, you love. And so you'll fight until you're driven to bankruptcy by my lawyers trying to get Harold back, even though you'll still lose. Because to let him go without a fight would mean abandoning him and you won't do that. And of course, that's not even bringing up the guilt that Harold will undoubtedly feel when he finds out about this, what he might do to protect _you_ if he knew."

Sick to his stomach, Otto stood very still for a moment. Then his shoulder's sagged as he thought about his child. "You aren't going to kill anybody? You'd swear to that?" He whispered.

"I promise," Norman said in a voice thick with condescension and derision.

It was a lie, but not one that Otto would allow himself to acknowledge. He gathered up the papers that he'd thrown aside, numb and disgusted, and nodded to Norman. "I'll have something for you within the week."

"Excellent." Norman straightened up and sat behind his desk, replacing the paternity results as he did so. "I knew that I could count on you, that I hired you for a reason."

Otto stumbled back to his own laboratory, vaguely dazed, and worked late into that night. He loathed what he was doing, loathed himself, but thought of Harry and kept working.

At least, he thought with some bitterness, he was working alone and there were none to see his shame.

OOO

A/N: So now Otto finally finds out! Next chapter will probably get to the Unity Fair and exciting times will follow fast. :) Hope you enjoyed, that you'll leave a review and I'll have the next chapter out soon!

Also – as I edited the end of last chapter to say, I have a poll up right now regarding Otto's arms and how they might be used in upcoming chapters. Check it out and leave your opinion, if you would be so kind. Not sure what I'm going to do yet – but I'd like to know what you think.

Thanks!


	14. Secrets

OOO

OOO

Harry slid into the plastic booth next to Ozzy, setting down his tray before starting in on his fries. "You know," he said as he drenched a few more in ketchup, "I think I'm going about this the wrong way."

"Damn it Harry," Dori grumbled before taking a long sip of Dr. Pepper. "You have got to stop obsessing over this! So Peter went to a movie with her – so what? Relax."

"See, I've been trying to keep her away from him," he went on obliviously. "What I should be doing is finding him somebody better who can take her place. You know. Someone smarter, prettier…"

"Good luck with that," Ozzy scoffed.

"Why the laughing" Dori demanded sharply. "What, you don't think there are girls smart enough for him?"

"No. I've seen the chick in question though and let me tell you…" He whistled. "Gonna have a hard time topping that one, pal, especially if your brother's into redheads."

Harry scowled. "She's not _that_ pretty."

"Yeah, maybe if you're dead. She's got legs from here to New Jersey, decent rack and that hair of hers…"

"I'm going to punch you." Dori threw a wadded up napkin at his forehead. "Or better yet, wait until you're not looking backstage and go after you with your own power tools."

"I think we're losing sight of the real issue you," Harry said, wiping his mouth after taking a bit of his burger. "And that is finding a chick we can set my brother up with. Who's not an actress. Or a prim donna of any kind. Somebody smart, intelligent, hopefully his own age, without a tremendous ego."

"Don't know what to tell you if your looking for all that. Not gonna find it at our school. Everybody thinks they're fantastic."

"Uh, excuse me. I don't think, I _know_," Ozzy smirked.

"Yeah, whatever. Really, though, Harry, I'm getting tired of hearing about this. Peter found a girl who happens to get on your nerves a bit. Get over it for his sake. For the sake of your relationship. Believe me, if he figures out what you're doing, he's not going to appreciate your attempts to break up his relationship. Let it end on it's own and he'll be single again soon enough. Meanwhile, don't you have practice you need to get to?"

"Fine." He finished the last of his drink. "I should probably hurry to get there anyway. We're supposed to be getting fitted for costumes today."

"Exciting." Ozzy laughed. "Say, what are you doing this weekend? A bunch of us were thinking up a time to see a movie. You think you'd like to come along?"

"Much as I'd love to, I'm gonna have to take a rain check." He tossed the trash from his tray into the trashcan behind them. "I've got a ton of practice plus that fair thing I'm supposed to be going to."

"Oh yeah, that's right. The World Unity Fair. I forgot about that one."

"How could you forget about it?" Dori quirked an eyebrow at him. "The posters have been everywhere. Oblivious, much?"

"Maybe we'll be going to that instead."

"Might run into you there, then. Anyway, I've got to run. See you guys in school."

"Bye!" Dori gave him a half-wave.

"Later."

They watched him leave through the large glass windows of the hamburger joint. As he walked down the street, Dori turned to Ozzy with a grin.

"You know, Harry's my friend and I love him to death," she said, "but somebody really needs to quit kidding himself."

"Oh, shush, you. Leave the boy be." Ozzy smirked. "He'll figure things out soon enough."

OOO

When Otto finally came home that night, he found Rosie at the kitchen table, her head down and her shoulders wrapped in a scarf, still sleeping.

"Otto?" The sound of the door roused her and she lifted her head.

"What are you still doing up?" He demanded sharply, then recoiled when he saw the hurt look on her face. Sighing, he hung up his jacket, then came over to her and rubbed her shoulders. "I'm sorry, dear. It's been a long day. I didn't mean to snap."

"What's wrong? Did something malfunction at work?"

"It's… it's nothing, really. I've had a few deadlines I'm struggling to meet. It will be alright."

"Anything I could help you with?" She stood and adjusted her wrap. "You know I'm willing, if it's something I can do."

"No!" He added, too quickly, then shook his head. "No. I have it under control."

She sighed and touched his cheek. "You look stressed dear. Too stressed. Come on upstairs. You can take your suit off and relax while I draw you a nice hot bath before you get to sleep."

For a moment, he looked as though he'd refuse. Then his shoulders sagged and he gave her a small yet sad smile. "Alright dear."

"You'll see." She kissed him. "A good night's sleep and everything will look better on the morrow."

It wouldn't, he knew, but he couldn't bear to tell her. As he got ready for bed and soaked in the sub – complete with sandalwood candles lit alongside it – he wondered what he would think of him if she knew. He was disgusted and horrified enough with himself. For her to know – kind, peaceful Rosie to realize her husband was making weapons that would be used for… well, whatever madmen used weapons for which, he was sure, was no good whatever – for her to know that would destroy them, he was sure. It was a betrayal of every principle he had, of every ethic about science he'd ever formed and held to up until then.

He put on the flannel pajamas she had set out for him before stepping quietly into their room. Without saying anything, she pulled the sheets aside and looked as if expecting him to slide in next to her.

"Not just yet, dear." He went to the door. "I'm going to go check on Harry before I get to sleep. Make sure he's alright."

"That's sweet." She beamed. "But that's why I married you. Hurry back though; the bed is cold without you."

He made his way down the hall, opening Harry's door just a crack so that he could see inside. Harry was there, sleeping quietly under a mound of blankets and pillows, breathing softly. Candles, art supplies and scripts were scattered about, but the boy slept peacefully in the midst of all of the mess.

This was why, he reminded himself. His son. His son, his family, everything he held dear – that was why he had to pretend that he didn't know what the inevitable consequences of what he was doing would be. They would be consequences that happened to other people. Not to his family, not to the children he loved, not to the wife he cared for, not to his life.

"Sleep well, Harry," he whispered, reaffirmed, however slightly, in his decision to accede to Norman Osborn's requests.

Let him have the sleepless nights while Rosalie and Harry and Peter slept on, unknowing. It was what a good father, a good husband was supposed to do. The burden was his to bear and nobody else's, no matter how it rotted him from within to hold the secret he was keeping and do the deeds he was doing.

He was not a bad man, he told himself. He was simply taking care of his responsibilities.

OOO

"Picking me up again?" Peter got into the car with his mother. "Is something going on?"

"Your father's been a bit tired lately," she informed him. "Might want to give him a little space when you get home. He's had a short fuse the last few days. But I wanted to pick you up from school," she told him. "Gives me more time with you."

"Oh. Well… okay. Oh! I got an A on my stats test." He fished a paper out of his bag and held it up. "So that's good. My grades have been pretty decent this semester but I'm still trying to stay ahead of the game."

"Good. You know, we're very proud of you and it's I'm sure your father will be happy to know that you've been working hard and not getting distracted by video games or anything else."

"Well, not distracted too much," he admitted. "Maybe a little."

"That's alright." She patted his shoulder. "A little fun never hurt anybody. There's more to life than getting grades."

"Yeah… but if I want to get into a good grad school, the grades will help." He looked out the window. "And then I can get my masters and then a PhD and then I can go and work with dad!" He looked back at Rosie. "You think he'll hire me? I mean, will people say that it's, you know, nepotism or something? Because I really wanna work with him."

"No guarantees. After all, he works for Mr. Osborn now. It would be up to him whether or not to hire you." Peter fell silent and after a moment or two, Rosie glanced over at him with an odd look. "Peter? Is something wrong?"

"No."

She sighed. "That's the same response I get from your father. I might not be able to work anything out of him but I would hope that you would be willing to confide in me. Is something the matter? I've noticed you've been a lot less excited about Mr. Osborn. You were so excited to meet him and then you suddenly grew distant and disinterred."

He shrugged. "He's not who I thought he was," Peter said softly.

"Oh?" Rosie quirked an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Just… I don't like him, much. Not really." He looked at her with a pained expression. "I'm sorry mom. I wanted…" He trailed off and looked out the window again.

"What did you want?" She pried gently. "Peter… if he said something to you, it's alright. You can tell me."

"He's dad's employer."

"Well that doesn't give him the right to be rude to you. Or to do anything else you find uncomfortable. This isn't like you Peter, to go from so excited to so upset."

"Yeah… but… I promised."

She frowned. "What did you promise? To whom?"

"I… I can't say."

Rosie nodded and saw a gas stop ahead. She pulled into to parking lot and looked at Peter. "Peter? Did he hurt you in any way? If he did, it doesn't matter that he's your father's boss. We need to know."

Peter shook his head 'no.' "He didn't… it's nothing like… I want to tell you, but I promised!" He looked at her. "I _can't._"

"Peter…" She took his hand. "Peter, if it hurts you that much to keep a secret – is it a secret you should be keeping?"

"You have to promise not to tell that I told!" He burst out. "I didn't want to be quiet about it, but Harry said that you guys would get upset and we'd get into trouble…"

"Harry?" She frowned. "Did he ask you to keep the secret?"

Peter hesitated. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I told him it would be okay. That he could tell you. But he didn't want you to know. I told him you needed to but he make me swear not to tell…"

"Peter, I promise you and Harry that whatever it is, I won't be upset about it."

He focused his attention on the glove box in front of him, as if trying to block out the rest of the world around him. "Mr. Osborn is Harry's father. Like, his birth father. And he knows about Harry."

"I see," she whispered. "And how does Harry feel about this?"

"It's why he didn't want to move here. And he was really upset that I like Mr. Osborn so much. But I didn't know. Like I told him, I wouldn't have thought so much of him if I had known."

"Did he say something to Harry?"

"Yeah. I don't know what exactly. Something about Harry being worthless, that he didn't want him."

"Well, then, Mr. Osborn is not what we thought he was either." Rosie had a stony expression on her face. "And I don't blame either you or Harry for being afraid to come forward – but I'm glad you did. You do know that Harry doesn't have to go back to that life, right? That Mr. Osborn can't hurt him again?"

"I told him that. But he's afraid about dad and his job. And I don't think he wants to go over to the penthouse again. Says it has too many bad memories for him."

"I understand. He won't have to. You do know, though, that I will have to talk to Harry about this?"

"I figured," Peter whispered. "He's going to be mad at me."

"He might be. Sometimes people get upset when you do things that will be good for them in the long run – that doesn't mean you shouldn't help them. In fact, it takes more courage to help somebody who doesn't want to be helped. It isn't easy; but it's what was right. Seeing Mr. Osborn again after so long was probably very traumatic for Harry and he shouldn't feel as though he needs to put up with seeing him and being insulted and pressured by him for our sakes. His emotional well-being matters too and, if I know your father, he won't want to be part of anything that could hurt you boys."

"Are you going to tell dad?"

"Probably," she admitted. "When the time is right. I'll talk to Harry first so that he can get comfortable with the idea, understand that he isn't the on who's done wrong here. And I won't do anything until after the fair, probably, or else your father's blood pressure might go through the roof. Are you alright with that?"

"Yeah." He nodded finally. "It hurt to keep it inside. And Harry… I think Harry thinks things are his fault, sometimes, when they aren't."

She nodded in agreement. "Osborn hurt him deeply as a child," she agreed. "It's pure cruelty for a child to be told that they're worthless and unlovable. He had no right to tell Harry that when he was little and no right to reiterate it now. Harry's always had… difficulty… accepting affection. Now that I know about his father, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised."

"I hope he won't be _too_ mad at me." Peter frowned. "But I thought you should know."

"You did the right thing, Peter," she assured him again as they pulled out onto the road. "And I don't think he'll be mad at you for long. He loves you very much, Peter, and I doubt anything will ever change that."

He hoped she was right. And as for his own situation… he was still worried over what Harry had warned about getting put in a lab. Nothing bad had happened from the bite – it hadn't hurt him, not really – so he figured it was safe to keep that a secret at least for the time being.

OOO

A/N: In honor of Otto (albeit a very different Otto) turning into Doc Ock in Spectacular Spider-Man this morning – I give you this. Hope you enjoyed and I will have the next chapter up after school is done burying me under piles of work! Next time – Goblin time. And maybe Spidey time too. :)


	15. Verge

OOO

"Nice job everybody on the choreography – I can tell you've been practicing. Make sure to keep track of your palms, though. Put them in the prop room when you're done with the number, I don't want to be replacing them a thousand times before we even get a chance to perform. Harry – love the 'I-told-you-so' glare on 'die for me.' Troy, react more to that glare. Look worried or something. It's foreshadowing your death you should be concerned. Well done on the vocals, though." The director looked up from the clipboard. "And I think we're done for the day!"

As they crowd gathered up belongings and walked out of the auditorium, Mary Jane stared venomously at Harry. He tried to walk past her without a glance but she followed him.

"You were thinking of me, weren't you?" She hissed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied in a bland voice.

"You know good and well! You weren't hitting the emotion towards Mary Magdalene until today. That whole 'object to her profession,' 'doesn't fit in well' bit – you were imagining you were talking to me!"

"Not everything is about _you_, you know. I'm a rather good actor, if you hadn't noticed." He picked up his pace and refused to look back.

"I've noticed you're a complete jackass who interferes way too much with Peter's life." She put on a burst of speed to close the gap between them, then punched him in the back. "And stop treating me like I'm some kind of whore!" She hissed.

"Well if the high-heeled shoe fits…"

"Go to hell!" She pushed past him and opened the door. "And I'll go out with whomever I please. You don't scare me and I don't care what you think."

The door nearly slammed Harry in the face and he gritted his teeth. Pushing out the door he turned down the road and looked at her retreating with narrowed eyes.

"Bitch," he whispered.

He went home, fuming, though admittedly wondering if there might not be some truth to what Mary Jane said – it wasn't unlike what his friends were saying.

'I'm just looking after Peter,' he told himself.

Yet in the back of his mind there lingered the 'why.' Peter could be naïve; but he wasn't stupid. Mary Jane wasn't a stellar actress; but he had to admit that she probably wasn't anywhere near as bad as he mentally made her out to be. In fact, if Peter hadn't been interested, he didn't know whether he'd have a problem with her at all, if they might not have gotten to be friends. She was pretty in her own way and her acting needed improving, but that was due more to a lack of education than lack of raw talent.

Ever since they were young, though, he'd always assumed he and Peter would go everywhere together, that they would stick with each other and look after each other. The realization that they would have to grow up and separate was an eventual one, made distressingly closer by Peter going to college. But there were other ways people could be torn apart.

As he mentally wrestled with himself on the way home, Harry gradually came to the begrudging conclusion that it was more egotism than anything else. He didn't want Peter to care about another person more than him, was selfish and wanted to keep Peter's attention to himself, wanted to be the center of Peter's world. But if he really cared about Peter, he supposed, he should be happy that Peter was happy.

Starting on his homework, he made a mental note to apologize to Peter when he saw him again and make an effort to be more polite to Mary Jane. It was a lonely feeling, thinking of letting go, but, he told himself, it needed to be done.

OOO

As he waited for Peter to return later that evening, Harry sat down at the piano with his music and picked out a few keys and chords, humming to get himself in key. He couldn't play well – their mother was the musician in the family – but he and Peter had been taught enough that they could pick out a tune if necessary. Besides, he figured, if he wanted to take his mind off of the talk he intended to have with Peter, apologizing for his attitude regarding Mary Jane, then he might as well be getting some practice. He was pretty solid, but putting in more effort never hurt as his father was always quick to remind him.

"_Now_… no, that's not right… let's see…" He flipped through his score. "Okay. That's it." He pounded out a set of notes. "_Now if I help you, it matters that you see, these sordid kinds of things are coming hard to me…_"

Otto walked through the door at that moment and froze at hearing the words. Any logic that told him that Harry hadn't meant anything by the song evaporated in the face of his own guilt and his anger and frustration from work coiled inside him like a serpent.

"Can't we have quiet in this house for once?" He bellowed at Harry, whose hands fell away from they keyboard instantly. "Can't I come home to some peace and quiet?"

Harry looked at him, dumbfounded and unable to react to the anger that had come, literally to him, out of nowhere. Their father _never_ yelled at them. Lectured, yes, until Harry thought his ears would fall off. Glowered, on occasion. And whenever they got into trouble, he would react with disappointment before anger.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, looking chagrined.

"Otto?" Rosie came down the stairs. "I heard shouting. What's the matter?" She looked from one to the other, trying to ascertain the situation.

Embarrassed, Otto's expression softened. "It isn't you who should be apologizing. I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered. "Never mind. You weren't doing anything wrong. It's been a long day and I… I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you like that." He ducked into his study before Harry or Rosie had the opportunity to respond or question him further, leaving them equally confused.

"What's the matter with dad?"

"He's under some pressure at work I think."

"Oh." His mouth felt dry. Work? If it was work…

"Harry, we need to talk." She descended the steps quietly to meet him but he turned his face away and backed up the steps, ducking around her.

"I'm sorry. I need to get some homework done…"

"Harry." She used the quiet but firm tone which always indicated she would not be put off and his shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Okay, mom. What is it?"

"Peter and I had a conversation in the car yesterday."

"And…?" He tried not to assume anything too early.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go to the living room and I'll make us tea."

Tea. Harry frowned. Never a good sign. Tea usually meant that there was something wrong. It was what Rosie always used to try and diffuse difficult situations, to calm things down. If she was making tea then something was definitely up and he waiting impatiently to find out what it was.

As she passed him a mug, the words he was dreading left her mouth.

"Don't get upset. I want you to know before I tell you anything that I asked and that neither Peter nor I wish to harm you. Rather, I think getting this out in the open might help. You two have been very skittish around Mr. Osborn lately and when I asked why that was, Peter explained me about your biological parent, Harry."

"Damn it." He set the tea down and pushed it away. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted him."

"Harry." She looked pained. "You can trust Peter. You _should_. And myself. And your father."

He scoffed. "He's dad's boss. And I'm probably the reason he's in trouble, aren't I?" He shook his head. "I knew this would happen. I knew it couldn't last, that things would fall apart…"

"Harry, stop that." She set down her mug to put a hand on his shoulder. "I haven't told your father yet. I wanted to discuss this with you first. And don't blame yourself. There are many reasons why your father might be under a lot of pressure at work and none of them having to do with you." She leaned back. "Peter says that you seem afraid of going back. But Harry, that won't happen."

"Oh really?" He looked at her, shaking his head insistently. "You don't know him. He can make things happen if he wants them to. He can, I know it, and he knows about me." Harry swallowed. "He said not to worry, that he didn't care. But I don't trust him. And he… he… he scares me," Harry admitted in a whisper. "He _could_ take me back. Maybe I'd never see you guys again. I couldn't do theater or paint, you guys might get into trouble. I mean, running away has to be illegal, doesn't it? And he doesn't like people taking things from him…"

Rosie sat down next to him and hugged him tightly. "Nobody is taking you away. Your father and I wouldn't let that happen."

"You don't understand, mom!" He pleaded. "Mr. Osborn – he gets his way, no matter what! You and dad might get hurt, maybe dad would lose his job… I didn't even want us to come in the first place! Like I said, I knew this would happen!" He stood up from the table and walked away. "I should never have said anything to begin with. I shouldn't have even gotten adopted. This wouldn't have happened to you, to me, to all of us if I was still in the home! It would have been better for everybody!"

"Harry!" Rosie called and started after him, but he dashed into his room and locked the door. "Harry, will you please open up?" There was no sound, but she felt it best not to press the issue. "I know you must be going through a lot right now, but when you're ready to talk, Harry, I'll be waiting."

OOO

"I really wish you two got along better," Peter sighed after Mary Jane described to him the exchange they'd had that day. "I hate feeling like I have to pick between you two."

"He was the one who started it," she insisted.

"Yeah, I know. But… please, be patient with him. He's a good guy, really, he just gets into these moods…"

She gave him a skeptical glare. "Moods? He acts like he's flat out crazy."

"He was the same way when I started college. He'll get over it. It just takes him some time." Peter stuck a few bills in with the check and handed it to the waitress. "Keep the change. I think he'll warm up to you," he said as he turned back to Mary Jane, though he did not sound quite confident in his assessment.

The red-head sighed. "Alright, Pete. If you say so." She gave him a smile. "And thanks for lunch."

"It's no problem. I better get home, though. Gotta get ready for the fair tomorrow."

"Have fun!" She waved at him brightly on her way out the door.

Peter watched her leave as he finished off his drink, sighing as he crunched the ice and pulled on his jacket. Being with Mary Jane… he hadn't thought it would be so complicated. Harry's dislike of her only made him feel worse about the whole situation, having to hear from both of them about how awful the other was and how much they loathed each other.

But Harry aside, he wasn't sure what to do. Sometimes Mary Jane was friendly and bubbly, effervescently beautiful when things had gone well. When she struggled, however, in school or the play, she grew moodier, wavering between not wanting to talk to him and wondering why he wasn't being more supportive. There was the strain of having to talk more over the computer than anything else.

And sometimes there was the problem of not being able to talk at all. Time and time again, he felt like she switched the subject whenever he tried to go into detail about what he was doing at school, as if she were uncomfortable with it. So many of their conversations centered uncomfortably on the subject of Harry or, if not that, then on small talk about their day. Then again, perhaps he simply had his expectations all wrong. Maybe that was what people were supposed to do when they dated.

He figured he would at least have time have a talk with Harry after the weekend. Though why it mattered so much that Harry give approval he couldn't say. Leaving the café, he wished to himself that he had better instincts and knew more about how to read people.

This whole dating thing was a _lot_ more complicated than he thought it would be.

OOO

Locked in his study, Otto fiddled with the ink pens on his desk. Harry was the one he was supposed to be _helping_ with his actions. It wasn't his boy's fault that his words had stirred his sense of guilt. Otto thought of the looks on the faces of Harry and Rosie and he frowned; he wasn't sure he could face Rosie and Harry again tonight, nor Peter when he finally arrived home.

Besides which, the specter of the fair loomed. Osborn had been more anxious of late, as though he were treating it as some sort of deadline. He knew that Oscorp was having a fete and that he would be expected to attend it, so he was utterly on edge. Something, he knew, was going to happen and he dreaded to think what the result would be when it did.

Lost in his thoughts, he found it to be after eleven when he finally looked at the clock. Thinking back on the day, he decided that perhaps it would be best not to disturb his wife or sons any more than he'd already had. Stretching out onto the room's leather couch, he tried to get some sleep.

All he could hope was that it would all be over soon.

OOO

A/N: Sorry about the delay – I left the half finished chapter behind when I went on vacation. Not sure I'm completely satisfied with this chapter as it's a bit 'internal thought' heavy, a bit pedantic. But I wanted to set a few things up and there will be lots of action/drama coming up to make up for it. :) It's the fair next chapter so it'll be a real turning point. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you'll read the next.


	16. Pain and Blame

OOO

"I can't believe you told her." Harry's arms were crossed as he looked at the balloons passing overhead.

"They had to find out sometime." Peter kept his focus down at the ground. "Besides, I only told mom. And you shouldn't be mad at her, she only wants to help you. She wasn't trying to hurt you."

"I'm not mad!" Harry glared.

"Then why didn't you talk to her all morning?" Peter met his gaze with a frown. "You hid in shower until she left with dad, didn't even say good morning or see them before they left."

"Hnh." Harry made a non-committal sound and crossed his arms.

"Come on," Peter sighed and nudged him. "Cheer up. I know, things are a bit dicey right now, but we'll work through this. There's nothing that mom and dad wouldn't do for us and I'm sure that they'll find a way to work this out. If the rumors I hear hold true, Mr. Osborn won't be dad's boss for too long anyway."

"It's not a matter of _won't_ do, Pete. It's a matter of _can't_. You really shouldn't be so naïve as to…" He turned his head and looked off in the distance.

"As to what Harry?" Peter was still observing his brother's face.

"What the hell is that?" Harry whispered.

Peter shifted his gaze to where his brother was looking and saw billows of smoke following a figure on some type of glider. Whoever was atop the glider was clad in some type of lurid green armor and a sudden explosion made it clear what he was there to do. All around them, people starting screaming and the street was filled with people rushing past them as fast as they could. For a moment, Peter was rooted to the spot until he felt Harry dragging him along with the rest of the crown.

"Pete!" He bellowed. "Move or you're going to get crushed!"

Sirens and car alarms were going off when Peter pushed Harry next to an abandoned cart selling New York City souvenirs.

"Pete! What are you doing?" Harry looked at him like he'd gone crazy.

"Harry, we have to go back there!"

"What!"

"Harry," he swallowed, "first of all, mom and dad are back there!"

"And we won't be doing anything for them if we get killed!"

"Second," Peter went on, ignoring his objection, "I could help. You know I could."

"Peter, you can't be serious," Harry panted. "This is not the time for kidding around, Pete! That thing had bombs, do you want to die? I mean, good intentions and all, but you really think it's a good idea to go and fight some terrorist chucking explosives?"

"He might kill people, Harry!"

"Including you!"

Sitting up, Peter grabbed a hoodie off of the cart and a bandana with the Statue of Liberty printed on it, pulling on the sweater and tying the bandana around his face.

"Peter you're insane!" Harry grabbed his arm but Peter yanked it away.

"I'm not going to let people die!" He retorted in a muffled voice, dashing down an alley.

Harry peered out from around the corner of the cart and soon saw a second figure swing into view. His heart in his throat, he stood up and joined the part of the crowd that chose voyeurism over safety, pressing against the hastily erected police barricade to watch the chaos. Shouts and screams echoed around him, but he could barely hear them for the blood pounded in his ears. The two were struggling near the crumbling side of a building which the figure had apparently bombed shortly before Peter arrived.

As the two went back and forth, Harry saw several figures dangling while emergency crews warily tried to approach. There was a sense of familiarity and then recognition hit like a slap. The attack wasn't aimed at the fair; the only site which had been struck was the balcony where the OsCorp executives and bigwigs were – including, by personal invitation, his father and mother.

The woman who was sliding down that broken piece of cement…

"MOM!" Harry screamed and tried to press pass the border, only to be stopped by a policeman. "That's my mother!"

"Son, I know this seems exciting and all, but I have to warn you to stay away…"

"No! You don't understand!" He screamed back. "My parents are up there, they're going to die!"

"If that's true, you'll only be putting yourself in danger. Let us do our job." The office gave him a severe look.

Nauseated, Harry stumbled back. His parents were up there, Peter was up there and he had a sick feeling that he knew who was inside the suit. And all he could do was stand on the ground with the rest of the useless civilians and watch mutely as his whole world exploded and went down in flames.

And it was his fault.

White-knuckled, he stood, mesmerized and terrified as the scene played out.

OOO

Otto's stomach had turned before the figure had come into sight. There was no mistaking the mechanical whine of the equipment he had worked with over and over again. He'd barely had moments to drag Rosie back from the edge and press her to his chest as the board was incinerated in front of their eyes.

Osborn had lied. _But of course he had, idiot,_ he thought. _You knew he had._ Osborn had lied and was going to kill him to cover up loose ends and he should have seen it coming and now he would die and Rosie would die and both the boys would be orphaned again and Norman would swoop down on Harry like a hawk, playing the good father and might even take Peter too…

"We need to get inside," he whispered to Rosie.

As they turned, however, there was a second wave of concussive force and the ground crumbled beneath them. Otto's grip loosened and Rosie fell backwards, barely having time to brace herself against the dangerously leaning cement. The glass that had shattered with the explosion had cut both of them and Otto hastily wiped blood that was trickling down into his eyes in order to see her better.

He reached out a hand as far as he could, trying to ignore the cackling that was filling the air.

"Rosie!" He bellowed. "Rosie, take my hand!"

Trying to lift herself, he saw her leg was oddly twisted and she was having trouble moving forward. As he slid down further, there was another blow and he fell backwards, hitting the rail of the balcony and clutching for dear life.

"ROSIE!" Hands pressed against him, EMTs who had made their way up the steps to provide what help they thought they could, pulling him back and giving him assurance.

He was still screaming her name as they pulled him out of her view and towards the stairs. Breaking away from them, he ran to the edge again, terrified that she was dead.

_You killed her, you killed her, you killed her…_

A hooded figure was apparently trying to lower her down to the ground where an ambulance was stationed but he couldn't tell if Rosalie was alive or dead. Staggering back a step, he suddenly felt a hand on the nape of his neck. There was a cackle, a scent and then everything went dark for Otto, his wife's name still on his lips.

OOO

By the time Peter reached the scene of the fight, several men were already dead, having been incinerated by a particularly well-thrown bomb. Swinging over had made him somewhat dizzy and nauseated and, coupled with the smell of smoke, he practically retched into the bandana. Shaking his head, he kept focus however, and tried to use his webbing to drag the glider off course.

The figure slammed into the building wall and Peter, clinging to it, punched him. He turned at the sound of a familiar voice, however, turning to see his father and mother caught on the crumbling balcony. As he made for them, his spider-sense spiked and he saw the hideously masked man swooping back around on the glider, lobbing another bomb towards him this time.

Barely leaping out of the way, he swung onto a balloon and then managed to leap on the glider, getting in a punch or two and webbing up the mask before being thrown off again. His webbing attached to the building and he hastily pulled himself up, only to feel the debris from another blast raining down on him.

A scream told him that his mother was still in danger and he twisted to see a chuck of concrete strike her, causing her to go slack and lose her grip.

"Mom!" Webbing shot from his wrists and he braced himself, managing to snag her by the legs and lower her down.

The figure behind him was about to punch him again, but then hesitated at the word. Feeling the tingle again, Peter turned and hit him for all he was worth, cracking the concrete in the process. The figure then tried to escape and Peter followed, attempting to rip the engines out of the glider he was flying on, when he saw him going for another figure.

Swooping down, Peter saw his father, come out on the balcony calling for Rosie only to be struck by the figure, sprayed in the face with something, rendered unconscious and carried off. Too afraid to attack outright, Peter gave chase. By then, however, his muscles were exhausted and he could barely see straight. After loosing him amid the myriad skyscrapers, Peter lowered himself into an alley, ripping off the bandana and hoodie and shoving them into a garbage can before leaning against a brick wall, puking and panting.

Slumping against the wall, he felt like crying. His mother might be dead, his father had been taken, he had barely any of idea what had just happened and his muscles were absolute jelly. Feeling on the brink of collapse, he blindly wandered down into the subway and took the route to their house, shuddering the entire time and trying to block out the constant buzz of discussion about what had happened.

OOO

When he finally reached their house, he went in to find Harry alone, sitting at the kitchen table with his head buried in his arms.

"Where's mom?" He breathed.

"In the hospital!" Harry lifted his head to scream at Peter and Peter saw his eyes were red-rimmed and his face streaked. "She's got a concussion, she's in a coma and they wouldn't even let me see her… I told you that you should have said anything! Look what you did!"

"What!"

Harry drew in a shuddering breath. "He found out. My father – Osborn – must have found out you said something and he went after her to keep her quiet…"

Peter flushed. "My fault! My fault?!" Tired and exhausted and frustrated at his inability to save his mother and father, Peter slammed his hands down on the table. "My fault! You were the one who told me I shouldn't use my power! You were the reason I went in there with no experience whatsoever! I could have _saved_ her if you hadn't given me such shitty advice!"

"Oh so this is _my_ fault?" Harry snapped. He had been feeling guilty about the whole affair on his own but to hear Peter say it was more than he could take. "You know what, Pete," he growled, "maybe you're right. This whole damn thing is my fault, you'd be better of without me, wouldn't you! Have your perfect little life with dad always taking you to labs and going out with your little girlfriend with no Harry to get in the way!"

"Don't even bring her into this! And as for this being your fault - you're the one who's always saying that and apparently always feels guilty about it!" Peter glowered. "Well maybe it is true! If you had said something back in Houston we'd still be living in Texas where we'd all be safe and happy, but no, you never want to tell anybody anything! Besides," he pushed forward in the full throes of agitation, "you were the one who didn't even want to say goodbye to mom this morning. You're probably happy your secret's safe now…" Peter suddenly clamped his mouth shut, regretting the words the moment he'd said them.

Too late though.

Harry looked as though all the blood had been drained from his face. He took a stumbling step back and nodded.

"Fine. Fine, Peter." He dashed up the stairs and locked himself in the room. "Fine! You want it to be my fault? It's my fault!"

Peter came a moment after him but was a fraction too late and only hit the door. Hearing the sound of drawers being pulled out, Peter pounded against it with his fists.

"Harry! Harry, open up, I didn't mean it Harry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The hinges rattled and his vision clouded. Be careful about what you say, his mother always told him when they were little. Be careful because once you say something you can't unsay it. Frantic, he went into his own room and clambered out the window then crawled across the wall to Harry's.

Looking in, he saw a door slamming; Harry had waiting until he left the door to leave. Letting himself into the room through the window, Peter saw there was clothing strewn about and Harry's backpack was gone from its familiar spot next to his desk.

Peter tried to follow him down the stairs and into the street, but Harry had already disappeared into the ever-present throng of New Yorkers that constantly filled the streets and sidewalks.

Despite his exhaustion, however, he could still think somewhat clearly – and he knew his brother like a book. Even if Harry was bound and determined to run away, he wouldn't leave without saying good-bye to his mother. Heading back inside, Peter called, hospital by hospital, until he found the one that she was in and then went to track down Harry, hoping he would still be there.

If not…

Peter shook his head and refused to follow that train of thought. It had been a long and terrible day and he didn't know if he could stand entertaining the possibility that he'd lost his whole family in one fell swoop.

OOO

"You killed my Rosie." The words tumbled off of his lips the moment Otto Octavius opened his eyes and saw Norman Osborn looming above him. "You killed her!" He started for Osborn only to get smacked, sent sprawling on the floor. "I'll kill you!" He growled.

"Spare me the empty threats. It's your fault if you were blind enough not to see my intentions and bring her up there. I thought you were smarter than that, Otto." He smirked. "Besides, kill me and you'll spend the rest of your life in prison. And wouldn't that be a shame."

"Not after they find you're the assailant."

"What? You mean the one who used the weapons you made?" His leer was nastily triumphant. "You made those explosives, Otto. You helped engineer them. You as good as killed those people yourself."

Otto felt sick but didn't deny the accusations. "So what do you want with me now?" He spat. "You got what you wanted! The directors are gone, you have your weapons – can't you leave me alone?" He quieted. "I won't tell anybody any of this; just leave me and my family alone…"

"I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that Otto. I still need your assistance in one more small matter… you see, my attack, as I'm sure you saw, hit a bit of a speed bump. So do-gooder decided to attack me – and was unfortunately quite effective." He frowned. "However, as most 'good' men do, I suspect this one has a weakness; he hates to see innocent by-standers get hurt. I could not beat him then but were I to lure him out of hiding with a threat against an ostensibly innocent person…"

"So I'm to be a hostage," Otto finished.

"To put it plainly, yes." He held up an aerosol can. "And when he, whomever _he_ might be," Norman said with a knowing chuckle, "comes for you, you will spring the trap and bring him to me where I will either convince him to join me in my endeavors or… well, I'm sure you know."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then it will be more than your wife who dies. And you can rot in prison knowing your children are beneath the earth because of you," Norman hissed.

Otto shuddered, but ultimately he nodded. He'd gone too far, too far and now there was no way out that wasn't going to end in death.

"Forgive me Rosie," he whispered to himself, brushing off a quick spate of tears as he followed Osborn into the lab. "I only wanted to save our family and now I might have killed us all."

_Forgive me…_

OOO

A/N: So AOL has a Father's Day poll up about the best and worst movie dads. And sure enough, there was good old Norman vying for the worst. ;) He was way down in the poll (the guy from the Shining was in the lead last I saw, followed by Darth Vader) but there's no denying he's a pretty terrible father. Heck, I think I'd rather have Vader – at least he offers a half-share in the galaxy and ultimately comes through for his kid.

Just found it interesting. And perhaps, if all goes well, we'll see what happens in this tale of two fathers before or on Father's Day itself. No promises – but it's a definite possibility.


	17. Sacrificial

OOO

"Figured you'd come, sooner or later," Harry said the moment Peter stepped into the hospital room.

"Well, if you did, you didn't leave." Peter forced a weak laugh. "That means something, doesn't it?"

For a moment so long Peter wondered if Harry hadn't heard, his brother stayed silent. Then he turned his head, letting Peter see that his cheeks were damp and his eyes lined red.

"I guess does," he admitted before turning back around and holding Rosalie's hand.

Pulling up a chair, Peter sat beside him, looking at their mother's unmoving face.

"What are the doctors saying?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"Not a lot." Harry's speech struggled against the lump in his throat. "It's still too early to tell. She might wake up in the next five minutes or she might never wake up. It was ages before they let me see her and when they did, they still hadn't come to any conclusions." He drew a shaky breath. "Pete, I owe you an apology. You were right, this is my fault. I should have let dad and mom know what Osborn was before we ever left Houston. And about MJ…"

"Harry, please, this isn't the time for talking about blame."

"Let me finish, Peter. Please." He reached for a tissue, blew his nose and then continued. "I was mad because I thought you were drifting away, leaving me. That college and dating were changing you and with me still back with mom and dad… well, we wouldn't have quite so much in common and everything was a drain on your time and energy… I was jealous. It was stupid. Mary Jane's not what I make her out to be, not really, and if she makes you happy then so much the better. I want you to be happy, want us all to be happy – all I've ever wanted." His laugh was short and bitter. "Screwed that up in a big way, didn't I?"

"Never mind, Harry." Peter reached over and rubbed his back, looking at Harry's face while Harry's eyes stayed fixed on his mother. "You did what you could, what you thought was right. Nobody blames you."

"_I_ blame me." He shook his head slowly. "Mom told us a long time ago not to keep secrets. And I never really listened. I thought that some secrets had to be kept, for the good of my family. In the end… look where we are. All my life I've tried to keep what I found. I got away from my father and I thought that by never mentioning him, he would disappear. I made a friend in you so I did what I could to get us adopted together. I had a family that I was so afraid might someday fall apart that I never really trusted them. Every moment of genuine happiness has been shaded by the fear that someday, somehow it might all evaporate. Now I can help thinking that the day has finally come. And as hard as I tried to delay that, to preserve what I had, all I did was bring this day it closer."

"I'm still here. And even if you run, I'll wait for the day you come home."

He smiled. "Yeah. I know. I would have run earlier, if I had known, if I thought it would distract Mr. Osborn and keep you all safe. And you know I would have found my way back. This time, though…" he shook his head. "I can't run. I need to be here for mom. And for dad too, if and when he's found. And for you, especially if you need to…" Looking at his mother, his voice trembled and he fell silent, the same frightening thought entering his and his brother's mind at the same time.

"We won't have to make that decision. We won't."

"You can't say that for certain. Mom's up in the air, they don't know anything for sure. And dad…"

"I'll get dad back."

"Pete, you don't even know where he is. And you're coming right off that fight at the fair where you were so exhausted you could barely stand and we don't even know if you've broken something. You're in no condition to be going out again for round two with Osborn."

"I can guess where he is. And if I don't go – who can face him? The police might not even believe me that it _is_ Osborn. I let him get away and he's got our father, I should be the one who gets our dad back."

"Please don't let me lose you too. I know it's hypocritical; I was the one leaving you barely an hour ago. But please – I don't want to be alone again. Or worse, I don't want to be left with only running or Norman as my options. With you at least I have some family left, somebody to help me get through this whole mess and lean on."

"Don't be so worried. We can all be a family again. All of us. I'll find dad and mom will come out of it and your other father…"

Harry turned and took him fiercely by the shoulders. "Listen to me Pete. I don't want you to leave. I don't know what would be a better alternative but I'm scared of you going after him. But since you seem so bent on doing it – don't hold back. Because he won't. And if this doesn't end right here and now, he's going to hang over our heads forever. Nothing will hold him back.

"You get the chance Pete, you do it. And don't feel guilty about it, not for a minute. Look what he did to mom, to everybody else. The man's as black a bastard as the earth's ever spit forth. But he's rich and slimy and well-connected and even the most expedient trials take a lot of time and energy, are hell to go through from what I've heard. Besides, who knows what damage he might do in the interim? If you do what you need to do, more power to you. I mean, I'm not saying… I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do. But if things happen to turn out that way…"

"He could have killed our parents. And I know he'll keep trying." Peter stood. "I'll do what I can and I'm not going to hesitate."

Harry nodded, and then looked over at the television, his attention suddenly diverted. "Well, about that whole 'finding him' problem…"

"Looks like it got a whole lot easier," Peter said, seeing the blurry face of the Goblin broadcasting from a makeshift connection in the laboratories, declaring that he was holding Dr. Otto Octavius captive and that he wanted the creature that had fought him earlier that day to present himself for a second fight.

"You'll be leaving then." Harry straightened up and hugged his brother. "Go get 'em, tiger," he whispered.

Gripping him tightly for what he feared might be the last time, Peter laughed in spite of himself. "MJ says that too."

"Yeah. I know. Who'd you think I got it from?" Harry reached over for his backpack and pulled out a scarf. "Keep your face hidden, move quickly and don't make me wait up too long, alright?"

"Be back before you know it."

Harry watched him disappear down the clinically white hallway before resuming his position at his mother's side, vigilantly watching for any sign of positive change.

OOO

"Are you quite finished?" Otto asked bitterly, trying to loosen his bonds a little as Osborn shut the transmitting machinery off.

"Don't worry. It won't be long now."

Sure enough, the masked web-slinger came crashing into the laboratory less than fifteen minutes later. The moment he was inside, Osborn used a remote to lock down the laboratory, trapping them all in there until he entered his override code. Otto stayed still and watched, nauseated, as Osborn put up a right with the other man.

Then, as Otto knew he would, Osborn went down, deceiving the other. The time for Otto to play his part had finally come and, terrified, he wondered if he could go through with it. A glance at Osborn told him that it would likely make no difference to the fate of the mysterious hero whether he cooperated or not; it would, however, make a difference to the family he had left.

"Don't worry, I've got you," the figure said with a strangely familiar whisper.

The moment his hands were free, Otto brought them up to his rescuer's face, a wrist-device concealed beneath his sleeve spraying a chemical into the face of the other as he did. Chemically designed to enter the bloodstream through the skin, even a minute portion, it easy penetrated past the mask, working within moments.

His eyes, the only part of his face that was visible, grew wide with panic, misunderstanding… betrayal?

"I'm sorry!" Otto whispered, guilty. "He threatened to kill my children!"

"You don't under…"

He slumped to the floor without ever finishing his sentence. As Otto stared down at the unconscious figure, noticing for the first time how very slight he was, Norman rose from the floor and cuffed his wrists and ankles, then bound him around the middle.

"Nicely done, Octavius."

Horrified, Otto shook his head back and forth but made no verbal response. Watching as Osborn propped the figure up, he realized there was little chance that someone with such a diminutive build was a full-grown male. Not to mention the fact that he'd come in dirty jeans and a black hoodie, not unlike the outfit he'd worn at the fair. The face was still obscured but this, he realized, was not some well-prepared hero or even, most likely an adult.

As if his list of sins weren't long enough, he'd assisted Norman Osborn in attacking a child.

Now would be the time to do something, to redeem himself before he became guilty of the death of a boy who probably couldn't even understand fully the danger that he was in. He edged towards the door when Osborn turned with a glare.

"The room's still locked down. So don't even think of leaving before this plays out." Stepping aside, he revealed the body strapped to a chair, bound in nearly every way imaginable. "Now, let's wake him up and see who's behind that mask, shall we?" Leaning over, Norman sprayed the antidote to the anesthetic Otto had just administered.

"Uhn…"

"Think I'll have a tough time convincing him to cooperate?" Norman ripped aside the scarf, giving Otto a full view of the figure's face. "You should know better than most."

Still dizzy, Peter lifted his head, practically the only part of his body that he could move, and looked at his father in confusion and hurt.

"Dad?" He whispered. "Dad, what are you… why are you helping him!"

"No…" Otto shook his head and stepped backwards. "No… no!"

The whole disgusting tragedy had finally come to its climax. How fitting, Otto thought. He had blackened his soul for nothing. Instead of saving his family, he'd delivered his son up to the very man he'd sought to protect him from. Somewhere in the background to the whole bitter fiasco, Norman Osborn was cackling, but Otto hardly heard him. Even the bizarreness of Peter's sudden ability to crawl walls and shoot webs somehow seemed relatively insignificant. Otto's field of vision had drastically narrowed so that all he could see was his son and the hurt that shown own from behind Peter's eyes.

Peter struggled against the bonds that held him, but made no progress; Otto could see the panic rising in his eyes. "Dad!" He pleaded. "Please!"

"I'm sorry," Otto whispered. "I'm so sorry. He threatened Harry…"

"Tell the boy the way it is, Otto. About how you've incriminated yourself. About how I can take his brother away from him whenever I like. About all the people you helped to kill."

"That's not true! Mom said you can't have Harry! He got adopted, you can't take him!" He glared at Osborn, defiant. "And my dad wouldn't do anything like that, would never help scum like you!"

"He helped subdue you, didn't he?" Norman pointed out with smug satisfaction. "Given all that's transpired today, I would think it a very good idea if you were to get out of my way. And if necessary, if I should ever need it – I could think of a number of uses for a boy with your talent."

"Go to hell," Peter snapped, then spat on Norman's shoe.

Norman took a vicious swing at Peter's head but Otto threw himself in front of the blow. Peter watched his father collapse to the floor, bleeding out of wound that spread across most of the left side of his face.

"Idiot. I can strike him again now that you're out of the way."

Otto staggered to his feet, however.

"I won't let you hurt him."

Throwing his head back, Norman laughed. "You pompous, fat lout! What do you think you will do? What could you do against me? Do you really want to die in front of the boy, traumatize him further? Deprive him of the only father he has left?"

Otto sagged under the taunts, feeling in full force the uselessness of his own body. Galling though the words were, Osborn was right. The room was locked down, Peter was trapped, calling himself 'out of shape' was a generous description and Osborn held all the cards. A glance at Peter told him the boy was similarly conflicted, unable to move and wanting to kill Osborn but terrified of what might happen if he did defy him, second-guessing his abilities to help.

Absurdly, in the moment he watched his son struggle, Otto thought back to an incident from when Peter was eight. He had, upon teasing and encouragement from Harry, climbed a tree far higher than he was comfortable with, only to find he was too frightened to climb down. The accounts the boys would swap afterward differed on the point of whether or not Peter cried when he was stuck.

What Otto remembered, however, was the relief palpable in his young son's frame when he lifted him out of the branches and carried him back down to earth, safe in his arms. He'd promised him there and then to be there for him always, to come and get him if he were ever in trouble. He'd assured him that he would help his children, come through when they needed it.

He looked at his son, his shoulders slumping as he backed away.

"I always knew you were a coward, Octavius." Norman turned from him and back to Peter, landing the blow that he'd originally meant to give the boy. "Now, will you cooperate?" He slapped him again after Peter refused to answer. "Will you? Come now, your father saw that it was the only way."

Peter spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth.

"Don't you talk about my father," he hissed.

"Why? Ashamed of him? Frightened now that you know he's not able to save you?"

There was a sudden clanking and the high-pitched screech of metal against metal. Snapping around, Norman saw Otto with a remote device in his hand and four tentacles looming in what remained of the door.

"The room might be sealed against humans leaving in or out. But it wasn't proofed against electronic transmission." Otto glared and spread his arms wide as the tentacles attached to his back and connected into his spinal column.

"Dad!" Peter cried out. "The AI's not… No! They're not ready!"

"Feel like losing your mind before you lose your family and your life?" Norman taunted.

"This has gone on more than long enough." The tentacles planted on the floor and lifted his body up. "And whatever sacrifice I have to make, if it kills you – it will be worth it."

OOO


	18. Long, Dark Night

OOO

Time suspended as Peter watched his father pitch unsteadily, held up by the metal arms. Having always seen them in the context of the lab, Peter had never considered the arms to be tools of destruction. Now, however, with the actuators hovering next to his father's bloodied face, Peter realized their dormant potential for destruction. As if to emphasize the point, one of the actuators snapped, an ominous clank of metal, while the rest swayed like vipers eager to strike.

'_Such thin lines,'_ he thought in the midst of his fear.

There was a moment when neither Osborn nor Octavius moved, each regarding the other as if waiting for a move, a mistake to be made. Peter held his breath; it felt as if the world were about to explode.

"Close your eyes, Peter," his father ordered without ever taking his gaze off of the suited-up Norman.

Peter squeezed them shut and the moment he did there came a grating sound of metal and hollow clangs. There was a beeping sound followed by a blast and he shivered; there was nothing he could do, bound as he was, if a bomb was thrown towards him. As if in response to this sudden realization, he felt the chair he was on being picked up and placed elsewhere. The tang of blood and the scent of smoke nearly overwhelmed him and he tried to crouch as much as he could behind whatever it was he'd been placed behind.

Frustrated screams and more metallic sounds, the whines of engines and the whirl of flailing arms, filled the air, but Peter couldn't discern who was winning the battle. Tighter and tighter he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he could make the whole nightmarish fiasco disappear. The prospect of dying became frighteningly real and he felt like he understood Harry's fears and objections for the first time. This was what Norman was capable of, this was what he could and would do without hesitation and Peter had underestimated the man, even when he knew what he was, from the start.

Time passed without measure and with only sounds and scents to guide him, Peter had little idea of what was happening. He resisted the urge to call out for his father, for fear of distracting him but felt as though he might die from panic and terror alone if the battle went on for much longer. Win or lose, he wanted it to be over so he would know what to do, feel relief or mourn, rather than remain suspended in this limbo of uncertainty.

Then, there was a grunt, followed by a wet, ripping sound, accompanied by a cut-short scream. Peter's eyes edged open a crack and he could see a limp body held in one of the actuators with a dripping orb of some sort held by another. Nauseated, he closed his eyes again and, when he heard a thud, tried not to think of what he knew it must be.

The floor shook and there were more metallic sounds as his father walked over. Using the actuators with the delicacy the had been designed for, he peeled away the metal bands from around his son. Opening his eyes fully, Peter looked up at his father's face. Streaming with sweat and caked with blood, he felt it was beautiful. Arms free for the first time since being knocked unconscious, he stretched them out and Otto gathered him up, pressing Peter into his chest.

"Do not look."

Peter had only glimpsed the destruction, the twisted metal and the machines ripped off the floors and walls, thrown helter-skelter about the room. Electricity crackled and smoke poured forth, making the whole scene even more surreal. However, this was not, he knew, what his father was shielding from his view. He nodded and, for the first time, cried a bit, all his terror and relief and worry leaking out.

Reluctantly breaking the embrace, Otto kissed his son's forehead then looked him in the eye.

"Get out of here, Peter," he whispered.

"What?" Peter looked at him, not understanding.

"The police will be here soon and I will not have you involved in this. Leave. And it will be as if you were never here. Osborn held me captive, tried to unmask the person who fought him today, but the mask was never taken off. He escaped and I have no idea where he went. Do you understand?" He gripped Peter's shoulders. "Go back home to your brother. Wait and I will… I will come back if I can. If I cannot... Peter, I am sorry. I am _sorry_." Feeling the insufficiency of his words, Otto fell silent.

"Shouldn't I go to the hospital?" Peter asked, quietly, still looking at his father and not beyond into the room where a corpse was cooling. "To find out about mom?"

"Rosie… Peter I'm afraid she's…"

"No!" Peter shook his head. "Harry was with her, they took her to Mt. Sinai after the fight! He told me she was really sick, I think in a coma, but she wasn't… she wasn't…" He didn't want to say 'dead' and his father, understanding, nodded.

"Go back then. Wait. And I will… I will do what I can."

Peter nodded and fled the room through a shattered window, swinging away into the night. Once he was gone, Otto shut off the arms and they separated from his body, falling to the floor with a thud and spraying blood when they landed. Exhausted, he walked over and sat on an upturned monitor, staring at Norman Osborn's masked face. His eyes were covered, though Otto knew by now they would be glassy and lifeless, and at the base of the mask he could see the ragged edges of torn flesh and veins, the remnants of a severed spinal cord.

"No better than you deserved," he told the corpse conversationally. "And I'll get no better than what I deserve either."

OOO

"You gotta wake up," Harry whispered and rubbed the back of his mother's hand with his thumb. "It's not fair, that you should have to pay for our mistakes. You were giving us good advice all along and I didn't listen and now you've paid…"

A doctor came up behind him, interrupting his reverie. Harry turned and paled when he saw the look on the medic's face.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave," he whispered.

"What? Why!" His voice rose in panic.

"We need to move her to the OR. Her brain scans came back and they show she has a rather rapidly developing subdural hematoma." Nurses bustled in and began pushing the bed and the connected equipment out of the room.

Harry ran alongside, trying to keep up. "What does that mean?"

"It means there's bleed in her brain."

Feeling his heart clench, Harry persisted. "Where are we going? What are you going to do to her?"

"_You_ are going to stay in the waiting room or back in her room if you like. We are going to have to perform a craniotomy and try to staunch the bleeding as much as we can."

"What does that even _mean!_" His agitation made his voice strained.

"It means we have to open up her skull," the doctor told him impatiently. "Now we really must hurry. Wait here or go back to the room and we'll explain more when she's out of immediate danger."

His mother disappeared with the crowd of doctors behind swinging doors and a light turned on, signifying that the room was in use. People were moving around him, but Harry stayed rooted to the spot; so many waves of worry and fear had come over him that he merely felt exhausted and numb by this development. He walked back to the room in a daze and slumped in the chair, not looking at the empty spot where her bed had been.

Open her skull? He briefly shuddered. The thought of his mother on a table, her brain exposed, nauseated him and he did his best to block it out, focus on trivial matters – the television in the room, the people passing in the hall – rather than his mother's operation. The seconds and minutes slipped away but nobody came to explain or to end his prolonged anxieties.

'_The long, dark night of the soul,'_ he thought looking out of the far window.

All he wanted was for it to be over.

OOO

Landing clumsily on the roof of the hospital, Peter took a moment to rest. Looking up into the night sky, he thought about his room back home, the reassuring stars his father had painted. They'd always watched over him as he slept, a subtle but ever-present reminder of his father's care and love for himself and Harry.

The thought of Norman Osborn twisting that love made him sick. And even knowing, if only instinctively, that his father had killed Osborn back at the lab failed to arouse his disgust.

In all honesty, he told himself, wouldn't he have done the same? What he'd done to Harry, to their mother, to all of them… Peter shook his head. He had better places to be than on a roof, cursing the sins of Norman Osborn.

Lowering himself quickly, he went inside and back to the room where Harry had been keeping vigil. When he saw his bother was alone, however, his heart dropped.

"Mom!" He ran over and grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Harry, where is she?"

"Peter!" He gasped and promptly began squeezing the life out of his brother. "Thank God you're okay!"

"Where's mom?"

"Where's dad?"

They asked one another simultaneous, something that if it weren't for the gravity of the situation might have made them laugh. Instead Harry pointed towards the operating center.

"Getting operated on." He frowned. "The doctor wasn't exactly clear but she's bleeding on the brain." He looked down. "You probably know better than I do what that means for her and her chances."

Bleeding to the point where they needed to operate? It wasn't a good sign, Peter knew, but he bit his tongue. "We'll have to wait and see. I mean, it's not particularly good but…"

"Yeah, I know." Harry regarded him nervously. "What happened? You're a mess and you smell like…"

"Like smoke?"

'Yeah. What went on and where's dad?" He repeated.

"Dad is…" Peter drew a deep breath. "Dad… Harry, he…"

"Dead?" Harry's eyes grew wide. "Please, don't tell me Osborn killed him," he whispered. "Don't tell me he won, I'll…"

"Other way around, Harry," Peter told him in a muted tone. "Dad… he… he's waiting for the police."

"And Osborn?"

"He won't get up again," Peter whispered. "But dad, he…"

"He what?"

'_Was blackmailed with your safety into nearly killing me?_' Peter shook his head.

There were circumstances that needed to be told; but this truth was not his to tell.

"He's waiting for the police," Peter repeated, unable to elaborate much on the confused events of the night. "Between the two of them they torn up half the lab and I'm sure the cops know about it by now. He didn't want me getting involved. Don't know what he's telling them, though."

"Tore up the lab? How'd he do that?"

"The arms. Turns out they're useful for more than handling dangerous elements."

"Oh, I don't know. Sounds like he handled one dangerous element pretty well," Harry forced a joke then sobered when Peter didn't laugh. "I'm sorry. It's just… It's been so stressful. And the day's not over." He sat down in the chair. "Now it's just us again, like it was back in the group home. Might stay that way."

"I'll stay here." Peter pulled up a chair and sat beside him. "Be right by your side, like we promised."

"We were children," Harry scoffed, "making promises we had no idea if we could keep."

"It's worked so far," Peter pointed out with a smile.

Harry returned it and they lapsed into silence; it wasn't long, however, before Harry saw his brother's head sag and heard snores. Promising his mother apostrophically to return soon, he helped his brother into a cab and took them both back home. Leaving his book bag behind, Harry helped Peter stumble at first then, when he passed out completely, carried Peter into his own room and laid him in the bed.

"Night, Pete," he murmured, pulling the cover over him, and then turning out the lights.

By the time he returned, his mother was in the room again, bald and bandaged…but _awake_.

"Mom!" He leaned over the railing, kissing her carefully, afraid to get too close but unable to hold back entirely.

"Harry," she smiled, reaching up to touch his tear-damp face. "Thank goodness you're okay. How are your father? And brother?" She looked anxious. "Nobody will tell me. Were they hurt?" She whispered. "Are they dead?"

"No!' He assured her quickly. "They're just… it's hard to explain. Peter's at home sleeping and dad…" _Might be going to prison?_ "Dad… it's complicated."

For a moment he was worried she would press him further, but she merely nodded and sank back into the pillows.

"Get some rest," Harry whispered. "It'll be alright. I'll be here the whole time. You need to work on getting better now, and it will all be fine, you'll see, we'll all go home at the end of this…"

She drifted off leaving Harry to doubt his own words, wondering if they ever really could go home again.

OOO

"Damn, Lennie!" The first cop into the room whistled when he saw the destruction. "You ever seen anything like this?

"What, you mean the suspect waiting around after?" The older cop chuckled. "Never count on getting that lucky." He walked over to where Otto was still sitting in a daze and looked down at him. "I don't suppose you know what went on here?"

"I'll come to the station quietly and give a statement," he said softly, watching as a pair of officers bagged Norman's decapitated body.

"Good enough for me. Ed? You care to do the honors?"

The black cop snapped a pair of cuffs onto Otto and led him away from the flurry of evidence collecting into the hallway. "You have been arrested in connection with the death of…" he glanced over at his partner.

"Norman Osborn," the other gruffly supplied.

"The death of Norman Osborn," he went on. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney…"

As he was pushed into the back of the police vehicle, he thought about his wife, wondered how she was doing and briefly longed to see her. Then he fell back into the seat and tried not to allow his thoughts to drift towards her.

He was probably the last sight she needed to see at the moment and the longer he could put off her finding what he'd done, the better. The moment would come, but he felt he would much rather face a reckoning with the law than the one with her when he finally came clean.

'_None but yourself to blame,'_ he reminded himself as the car pulled out into the night.

But Peter was safe and Harry was safe and even if they were alone, they were _alive_. And that, at least, was something.

OOO

A/N: Why is that a cameo at the end? I do believe it is! Also, saw the ending of Spectacular Spider-Man today. Loved the ending. But (and this is a bit of a spoiler so go no further if you don't want to)…

Seriously, Peter. Leaving him alone on top of a building, feeling sad and abandoned? Did you learn nothing from the movie trilogy? Maybe you should give your alleged friends _explanations_ every now and again and not just leave them hanging. Maybe that way they won't hate your guts and try to kill you when next they see you. Communication – use it!

Alright, rant over. Really can't wait for the next season. And, in case I don't get anything ready for posting tomorrow – have a happy fathers day. ;)


	19. One Another's Terrible Mistakes

OOO

His mother slept, having made it through the first test yet far from out of danger. With Peter at home and their father gone, he hated to leave her side, even for a moment. However, even with what little information Peter had given him, Harry knew that somewhere in the city his father was being arrested, probably arraigned.

This, he thought, was foolish in and of itself. If there was time for Peter to get away, there was time for their father to get away as well – perhaps even time to leave no trace or indicate of what had killed Osborn. They could both have left him in that hideous costume to be discovered, dead, prey to his own crimes. Meaning, Harry reasoned, their father was probably doing something stupidly and unnecessarily self-sacrificing.

Figuring he would have to work fast, he touched his mother's hand briefly then went out into the lobby, requesting a phone book from the receptionist. He hoped that the right people would still be awake, that there was yet time enough.

"Hello?" He lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure that he was as alone as he could be in a hospital lobby. "Is this the offices of Murdock and Nelson? No, this is not a prank. I need to retain… could you let me finish? Yes, I know I sound young. Look, my father… no, he… do you want me to get a cab down there?" His struggled to keep his voice from rising. "Thank you! Otto Octavius. Yes, that's the client. His arrest would have been within the last couple of hours. The 27th precinct. Yes. Yes. Do you need to routing number now? Proof? I have enough; don't worry about… first thing in the morning then. And yes, I can come down now to explain it."

Sighing, he clicked his phone to off and went outside to hail a cab.

This, he thought, had better work.

OOO

"He came quietly?" The assistant DA asked as they looked in on the interrogation room.

"No problems whatever. Briscoe and Green are in with him now." The lieutenant looked at the scientist who was sitting quietly at the table, hands folded, an odd juxtaposition compared to his blood-spattered clothing.

"Do you think he's going to confess?"

"He says he wants to." Van Buren looked over her shoulder and frowned. "I thought you said this was being kept from the press, low-profile."

"A meta-human incident? We're doing the best we could, but…"

"Looks like some word got out." She nodded towards a red-headed man walking their way. "Otherwise he wouldn't be here."

"Where is Otto Octavius?" The man asked in a clipped tone.

"He didn't ask for representation…."

"Nevertheless, representation has been retained. I asked, where is he?"

She sighed. "In the room. Door's over there to your left."

"…so you were knocked out and came to in the laboratory. Then what?"

"Then he…"

"Stop right there, Dr. Octavius. I would advise you not to say another work."

"And who might you be?" The older detective stood up, agitated. "In case you hadn't heard, the doc here isn't disputing the crime."

"Matthew Murdock." He nodded towards Otto. "I have been retained by your family to represent you in this matter."

"My family?" His brow furrowed. "But how…"

"And as for his supposed confession, I'm here to inform you that he will be appealing self-defense. You will hear any more information about this night from him at trail – if it even goes there."

"We have enough to hold him tonight," Green pointed out.

"And I assume there will be a bail hearing in the morning?"

"Bail!" Briscoe scoffed. "He ripped a guy's head off!"

"He killed a man who terrorized an entire fair of people, throwing bombs while dressed in armor that highly suggests mental imbalance."

Exchanging looks with his partner, the graying man shrugged. "If you say so."

As he was lead out of the room, Otto, who had fallen somewhat silent, turned towards the blind attorney. "My family? How did… who did? My wife, do you know…"

"I'm sorry to say that I know very little about your wife or her condition, though you have my condolences. Our firm was contacted earlier this evening by your son, Harry."

"I see," he said with a brief nod, then lapsed back into docile silence.

OOO

"Harry? Harry I need to talk to you."

Harry rubbed his eyes, stirred out of the brief sleep he'd gotten. Between worrying over his mother and doing what he could to help his father, it had been a long night. He'd only left at the insistence of his mother that he needed rest and the suggestion of the nurse that his mother would benefit from some time alone as well. He stumbled into bed after two without even bothering to take off his clothing, hoping for a few scant hours of rest before having to face the day.

"Uhn… Pete?"

Peter walked in and promptly sat down on top of the covers. "Harry, I can't stop thinking about last night," he whispered.

Yawning, Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. "I know Pete. I mean, I'm sure what Osborn did was…"

"Harry, it's not that. Harry… Dad almost killed me Harry." He swallowed. "He's been… he was helping Osborn, Harry!"

Harry frowned. "You said he _killed_ Osborn."

"He did. But first, he… Harry, what's… it's complicated!"

"I think you'd better explain." Despite his fatigue, Harry sat up at attention.

"I don't know. I mean, I told myself I was going to let dad. I only know bits and pieces. But… I really need to talk to somebody Harry."

"Then talk. My shoulder's always open, you know that."

Pausing frequently to issue agitated expletives, Peter told him how their father had knocked him unconscious, how Harry's well-being had been used as a threat but how their father had been complicit – how he felt himself partially responsible for what had happened to their mother. Harry nodded, paling, but allowed him to tell the story without interruption. When it was finally

"Look, Pete… I'm going to give you some advice I heard once from a man called Stephen Sondheim. People make mistakes. Fathers, mothers... people make mistakes, holding their own, thinking they're alone. Honor their mistakes... fight for their mistakes, everybody makes... one another's terrible mistakes," he recited in lilting, musical tones.

Peter looked at him skeptically. "Nice singing Harry. You're quoting that from something."

Harry sat up affronted. "Well of course. So what if I am?"

"Come on, Harry, where'd you get it."

"It's from _Into the Woods_, if you must know. But that doesn't make it any less true or right. Personally I think it's apt. I mean, it fits the situation exactly." He began flipping a pillow around in his hand. "Dad did what he thought he had to. And if you're 'moral' and 'righteous' or whatever, you can point out that he had choices. He could have said no and let the chips fall where they might. He could have tried to go to the police and convince them that an upstanding researcher was a murderous freak.

"But men like Osborn – they get away with things. It's not a pleasant thought but the reality is that they do. All his money and power – goodness can't stand up against that. Not always. And gambling on the ability of the law or morality or whatever else to step in and come through and save you can lose you everything."

"Harry… musical advice aside, he practically delivered me into Osborn's hands…"

"Thinking you were someone else," Harry interrupted. "And then stepped up when he realized what had happened." He frowned. "Maybe I'm explaining it all away because I hate my biological father and because dad was doing this for me. But he didn't want to see us hurt. And Peter… Peter, you're smart, right? You've heard of utility? And no, not like electricity, like Bentham and John Stuart Mill."

"Yeah, I've heard of it," Peter said looking at him in disbelief. "In a phil gen ed I had to take. Where'd _you_ hear of it?"

"Hanging around backstage with speech people. I keep trying to tell you, I suck at math but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Look, what I'm trying to say is, everything that happened, all those attacks, even the one on mom, even the one on you – they would have happened anyway. And ultimately, Norman Osborn was the person responsible for that violence, not Otto Octavius. Osborn didn't need our dad to do what he did. Except if our dad hadn't played along with Osborn, we might _all_ be dead. Or I would be back in Osborn's house, getting abused and being made to do God knows what. Or dad would have lost his job and Osborn would have blacklisted him so he couldn't find work again. I don't know the whole story. But from what you're saying, our dad did what he thought would be the best for the most people, given that a lot of this stuff Osborn would do with or without him. The only reason Osborn even involved our dad was to hurt me – hurt _us_."

Peter looked upwards at Harry's stars. "You know, a week ago, I don't think I would have believed you. I would have thought it was your paranoia towards and hatred for your father coming through. But after seeing Osborn in that lab…"

"He wanted to be cruel and he knew how to manipulate our dad to do it. Even as a kid I saw it; he stole projects out from under people, he nudged out competitors, all of it! And tried to teach me that too. That I had to be 'hard' and take things, that I had to 'punish' people who got in my way, that rules were meant for lip service but were really for lesser people. I was barely five and he was trying to push that on me.

"If anything, Peter, you should blame me. I'm the one who could and should have seen this coming and it was my reluctance and silence that put dad into an impossible position."

"But you thought you were making dad and me happy."

"Exactly." Harry gave a short sigh. "You see what comes of good intentions? But no matter where they end up, it doesn't mean the person who did the wrongs wasn't trying to make things come out right. Sometimes it just… it doesn't work." Seeing his brother's face, he frowned. "And if you're going to blame someone, blame me, not dad. He was trying to protect me but only after I got us into this whole mess. And he would have known it was you under that mask if I hadn't encouraged you to keep the truth about your 'change' from our parents."

"That still doesn't make what he did _right_, Harry." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Even if you feel guilty, you didn't really do anything wrong or illegal. Omitted the truth, yeah, and ran away, maybe but dad – he killed somebody! And maybe I'm a bad person too for thinking I might have done the same thing in his place! I mean, I wanted to see Osborn dead, I wanted him to pay… but it's so… could I have done that? Should he have? How far is too far?"

"Look at it from the other way around, Pete. Think about if he hadn't acceded to the requests. What's that saying? That he thought my life didn't stack up next to the havoc Norman might have caused?" He sat up. "Bottom line is, you can let 'maybes' and 'should haves' and moral questions bother you forever. Or you can forgive your family and go on living. No, our dad isn't perfect; but if you can't forgive a parent acting out of love, whose faults can you forgive?"

"This isn't exactly a minor fault, Harry. He made weapons. He had to have at least some inkling of what Osborn was plotting and he stood by and let it all happen. He helped to capture me who, even if he didn't know who I was, saved him earlier in the day. He ripped a man's head off!"

"When you put it like that, of _course_ it sounds bad."

"And when you rationalize it like you do, you make it sound like it was nothing!"

With a sigh, Harry walked to the door. "I suppose. And maybe _I'm_ a bad person for doing that – or at least a morally dubious one. But I'm only doing the best I can, like you or dad or mom or anyone else. Point is, in the end, we all have to decide on what's important to us. You can sit back and let the wheels turn and call it justice if you like. Or you can stand by a man who's done nothing but love us." He reached for a dirty pair of Sketchers he had sitting by the door. "But if you decide to blame dad and the family falls apart, then Osborn, dead as he is, gets what he wanted."

"Where are you going?" Peter ignored the stab of guilt and asked as Harry leaned against the doorframe, tugging on his shoes.

"I have a meeting with the law office representing dad."

"What? Why?"

"Because mom's in no position and dad's not thinking clearly," he replied impatiently. "Somebody had to retain a lawyer for him. He could be charged with a capital crime, I'm not leaving that in the hands of some legal aid incompetent."

"Well who'd you get?" Peter asked with a frown.

"Murdock and Nelson."

"Murdock and… Harry! How are you doing that?" Peter jumped off the bed and followed his brother down the hallway.

"Don't worry about it."

"Well I am! Where did you get that kind of money? How did you convince them?"

"Like I said, it's none of your concern."

"Harry!" Peter grabbed his arm to stop him and, rolling his eyes, Harry turned around.

"I used my college fund to retain them, alright? Don't tell mom or dad if you see them."

"Harry!" Peter exclaimed again, looking aghast. "Harry, how will you…"

"It's only money, alright?" He snapped. "It's replaceable. I can get scholarships or take out loans or… whatever. Like I said – replaceable. Dad isn't. And I didn't have access to anything else. Mom isn't well enough to be dealing with all of this and that was the only account I could use." As he reached the door he paused. "And Peter? For what it's worth, about dad – ask yourself if you're more upset about what he did or about not knowing what you would have done in his place. And while you're at it, now that you're up, you might want to visit mom. Just in case."

Another moment and he was out the door, leaving Peter to mull over his own personal crisis of conscience.

OOO

A/N: And the cameos continue! For those of you who might be curious, no, Matt/DD will not be anything more than a minor character. But it's a metahuman case in New York which pretty much requires DD. Dubious legal reasoning ahoy! :-D Also, there is musical advice for every situation. And I mean that. Need some advice? Musicals. They're where it's at.

So apologies for another wordy chapter with a heaping side of situational ethics. And more on the Otto/Rosie fallout next time. Until then, happy reading.


	20. Nolle Prosequi

OOO

"Well Otto, since you seem so eager to confess, might I suggest you tell your tale to someone where it will be protected by attorney-client privilege? Whenever you want to start from the beginning, I'm listening."

Otto sighed. "Alright. After the attack I was struck on the head and taken to the lab. I was threatened with my life and told to render the person who'd fought Osborn at the fair unconscious." He paused. "I was afraid of my life. It was cowardly but… I agreed to help him. At first. Then after I'd done it, once the room was locked down I began to regret my actions. Using a transmitter I had in the lab I called my arms over and we fought. In the course of the fight I… I subdued and killed him." He swallowed. "I used the arms and ripped his head off."

"Very well." He paused. "What happened to the person who fought with Osborn earlier?"

"He… Osborn revived whoever it was to beat him up. He got free and escaped while we were fighting."

Murdock sighed. "Dr. Octavius, this will be much easier on both of us if you tell the truth. If this goes to trial, I can't afford being blindsided."

"I am telling the truth," he insisted coldly. "We fought, I killed Osborn…"

"If your heart was beating any faster you'd shatter your ribs. I might be blind, but I'm very skilled at discerning when people are lying to me. You know, as your lawyer, anything you say to me never leaves this room. I cannot suborn perjury, but I cannot violate your right to privacy either. Now if you want to have a chance at remaining a free man, I would encourage you to cooperate."

"That's assuming I want that."

"Dr. Octavius," he sighed and leaned across the table, "your son came in assuring me that you were innocent. I took the case because I've heard nothing but the best about you. Perhaps I am mistaken. However, I would ask you not to confuse any natural guilt you have for killing a man with legal or even moral culpability over that killing. You were under duress. Your life was threatened. You aren't used to that situation and I'm sure you did whatever you could to extricate yourself from the clutches of a madman. If those aren't reasons for justifiable homicide then I've never seen a case that has been."

Otto leaned back in his chair and looked away. "This isn't… I told you what happened."

"You son implied something else." He tapped a pen. "He implied that you were guarding him and his brother. He wasn't explicit – but I can draw any number of reasonable conclusions from that statement."

"Harry didn't… No."

"I am not the enemy here, Octavius. But I've been retained as your lawyer and I will go to the lengths that I have to go to in order to see that, at the end of the day, justice is done." He sighed. "And if I have to, that includes interviewing your sons."

"There's no need for that!"

"Not if you tell me the truth here and now."

Warily, Otto tried to size up the lawyer. "I don't want you harassing my sons."

"Then tell me what really happened." Another pen tap. "I need to know Otto."

For a final time, he hesitated. "From the beginning?"

"From the beginning."

He sighed. "It began weeks ago… I was being blackmailed."

"With what?"

"The safety of my adopted child…"

OOO

"Matthew! Haven't had the pleasure in a long while." The District Attorney, ushered the blind lawyer into his office.

"I haven't seen a case of this caliber in a very long while, Arthur." He took a seat in one of the office's expensive upholstered chairs. "You must be taking this seriously if you're making the appearance instead of McCoy."

"Jack is… less than sensitive to the particulars of this case." He sipped a finger of bourbon from an expensive cut glass. "I don't want this to become a public fiasco any more than you do."

"You are aware that I will be arguing self-defense. I'm sure your office has received the same evidence as mine, so…"

"There's no way to prove who struck first, you know," Branch said in a bemused tone.

"True. There's evidence of a third person in the room but that entity has not come forward. However," he said, withdrawing a paper from his briefcase, "because the attack occurred inside Octavius' laboratory I will be arguing under the Castle Doctrine. He was under no obligation to retreat before acting with deadly force."

"Osborn ultimately owned the building."

"Osborn was wearing a mask. There was no way to reasonably identify him."

Branch nodded. "Then let's not waste the tax payer's money and my assistant DA's time."

"Thank you." Matthew stood and walked out of the office, brushing past a graying man as he went by.

"The man rips the head off another man with a set of titanium limbs and we let him off because he's a prominent scientist?" He frowned. "He gets a free ride because of who he is?"

"Even disregarding Octavius' value to society, Jack, the person he killed was the man who kidnapped him after terrorizing a fair intended to promote world unity."

"The police officers have barely done an investigation. We don't know about any other circumstances that might have lead to the killing of Norman Osborn by Otto Octavius."

"And we're lucky that we haven't been castigated for arresting a man that half the city would like to pin a medal on." He shook his head. "I don't like this meta-human business anymore than you do. But Murdock is right – he's got a case. And even if he didn't, thanks to him Osborn is dead. You think there's a jury in the state you could even hang let alone get to convict?"

"It's a case we might be able to poke holes in if we gave it any attention! Arthur, I can't believe you're brushing this one under the carpet!"

"Believe it." He finished the alcohol and set the glass down on his desk with a dull thump. "Our office isn't charging him. Self-defense and we aren't moving forward. Don't worry; it's New York. There's no shortage of criminals to convict."

"If you say so."

OOO

"You went to the office?" Harry looked into his mirror at the reflection of his brother.

"Yeah," Peter whispered. "Yeah. I told him… I told him I was the one who was there. To be honest, he didn't seem surprised. Did you say anything to him about it before?"

"I might have hinted. More about my role than yours." He turned to look at his brother. "I was worried that dad wasn't going to say anything. And I thought it was… I wanted him to understand why. That dad wasn't a bad person."

"Yeah. I know." Peter sat on Harry's bed.

"Are you still mad?"

"No… I don't… No."

Harry smiled. "That's good, Pete. That's good." He sat down next to him. "If this whole mess had gone to trial, I mean, not to belabor the point, but… would you have testified?"

"I would have told them what happened," he said with a nod. "That Osborn wasn't going to stop. That he would have killed me, killed the both of us… there was nothing we could have done."

Harry patted him on the back. "That's the Peter I know. "Speaking of our dad, where is he?"

"He went to go see mom. Said that they needed to have a private talk alone."

"Oh."

"I think he's been meaning to do it for a while but… I think he's afraid." Peter fidgeted with his hands. "Harry – do you think they're going to separate or get divorced or something?"

"Why?"

"Because… because. Everything that happened. I mean, what if mom blames him? He didn't mean to hurt her but… but he _did_, Harry."

"Love takes work, Pete. And part of that is deciding whether or not to forgive, just like you had to." He stood up. "Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow for the moment, Peter. I need to get to the theater; as they say, the show must go on."

"I'll come with you. Dad knows to go straight there. He's already got his ticket and everything."

"Not much else to do here then, is there?" Harry sighed. "I wish mom was going to be there. I mean, she hasn't missed a performance ever and I'm not sure it'll be the same without her."

"She'd be there if she could. I think it's enough to know that one day, she will be."

"Couldn't ask for more," Harry agreed.

OOO

Rosie tilted her head when she heard the knock at the door.

"Hello dear." Otto stood in the doorway, a bag tucked under his arm, looking abashed. When she saw him, Rose made an effort to smile and sat up slightly.

"Hello." She looked at him with a slightly hurt air. "Have you been avoiding me, Otto?"

He approached, hesitantly, shyly, and she was rather reminded of the college student who had approached her on the steps. There was that same fear of rejection in his face and frame. Rather than speak too much, he held out the package.

"Here. It's _The Wasteland_." He flushed. "The facsimile edition. So you have something to read."

She took it with an understanding nod and set it on the table next to her bed, then turned back to Otto. "I've missed you you know."

He nodded, fervently. "Oh God, Rosie, I'm so sorry. At first I thought I'd killed you and then I was arrested and I… I.. I mean, they dropped the charges but by then, they said you were out of danger and I…" He looked away. "I thought that by then you must know that this was my fault. I didn't… I didn't think you would want to see me."

"You could have let _me_ make that decision," she chided gently. "You know, the boys have been speaking about you."

"Oh?' He tried to keep his tone non-committal but, given the circumstances, it was virtually impossible.

"Harry blames himself, as he always does, and has been exhorting me not to think badly of you for trying to save him and painting Mr. Osborn in as dark a light as possible. Peter had been agonizing over what he would have done and feeling guilty for what he might have done and wondering how he feels about you and himself and the situation in general."

"And you?"

She looked at him, thoughtfully. "I understand why you did what you did. I am disappointed that you did not share your troubles with me, that you did not trust me."

"I was foolish, Rosie. In so many ways."

She faintly nodded and smiled. "I will not disagree. Trust can be a hard lesson for the boys but it is one you should have known, Otto. I can, however, separate what you did from what Osborn did. And I know that you did what you did, misguided through it was, out of love." She reached for his hand and, tentatively, he took it. "I am not Peter, Otto. I know what is in my own heart.

"It would be hypocrisy to fault you. Because in your place I should not have hedged and Osborn would not have died in anything that could remotely be called self-defense." She squeezed. "You remember the day I found out I couldn't have children? It was… it was a blow. Then Peter and Harry came into our lives and it was like a perfect, serendipitous moment. When I was younger, I always thought the talk of mothers as being bear-like in their devotion to be hyperbole.

"But to think of him threatening our boys, a real and concrete threat to their lives – I would have done all I could to cut him down. Perhaps those who died at the festival would not have. Perhaps that could have been foreseen. Would a pre-emptive murder have been morally justified? Would what I would have done been any better than what you did?"

"You wouldn't have… you would have been so much better at this Rosie. I'm stupid and foolish and clumsy and blind…"

"Enough, Otto." She pressed a finger to his lips. "We are alive. Hurt and scarred, yes. But we have each other and we shouldn't let such hate-filled actions take that away. We rise and we learn and we move forward. But in order to do that, I need you to be strong. The boys need you to be strong. Not stewing in your own guilt, not agonizing day in and day out…"

He embraced her as well as he could from the chair and allowed his muscles to relax into her. "Oh Rosie, Rosie… Rosie, what would I have done without you? Even now, how can I ever apologize to my children for hurting their mother?"

"By understanding where true fault lies. And if I had died… If I had died, Otto, you would have learned to be strong. Perhaps you would have stumbled as we are all wont to do. But I have faith that you would have come around and learned to stand up, even without me."

"Rosalie…" He whispered.

She kissed him on the head. "Go and watch Harry for the both of us. It took all I had to persuade him to fulfill his responsibilities, to assure him that I would be alright – that I wanted him to achieve his dreams. Yes, we might be sad and frightened. But we must remember to continue to live, as well as we can, and hold on tightly to one another."

"I will come back soon, to see you again Rosalie. I promise."

"Soon," she smiled, "I will be home."

OOO


	21. Moving Forward

OOO

"You must be happy." Mary Jane folded up her chorus outfit without turning around to look at Harry who was hanging up his jacket in the costume room closet.

"Meaning?" He asked her uncertainly, restraining any tone of anger.

"Peter. Got what you wanted, didn't you?" She snapped, throwing a compact into her purse. She stopped at the door, however, shaking her head and turning around. "Look, I'm sorry. That was really bitchy of me. I know you two have been through a lot, more than a lot…" She shook her head again. "Never mind. I'm being stupid and petty."

Another time Harry might have riled; now he just shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's… it's been rough. What happened? If you don't mind," he added quickly.

"He said he didn't feel ready for a relationship. That he didn't think we were right for each other or could really understand each other." She laughed. "Told me it was time, not me, but everybody says that. I guess you were right after all." She looked at him resigned. "Wasn't smart enough for him, was I?"

"Mary Jane… look. I'm sorry about how I acted before. Peter is… I didn't mind. Him dating you, that is. Yeah, I was a bit annoyed. Alright, a lot annoyed. But I got over it. And I'm not happy you broke up. I didn't… I only want my brother to be happy." He looked at her with intent, unblinking brown eyes. "Sometimes… well, sometimes we don't get what we want. But we have to accept other people's decisions as best we can, don't we? If we really care, we respect their decisions, put their happiness first."

She looked back at him and nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah."

"And if it wouldn't have worked out in the end, maybe it's better for both of you this way."

"Makes sense." She smiled ruefully. "He was a really sweet guy though. Don't find a lot like him."

"You don't," Harry admitted. "You don't. Don't sell yourself short either though. You've got a lot of potential and I'm not just saying that. Work at it and someday… someday I really think you'll make it."

Her lips curved. "Kind of you to say so."

"Believe me or not, but I'm being sincere." He stepped past her. "I need to get back home. But… well, you know. Don't be a stranger. Hope I see you around."

"MySpace," she laughed. "I'm on it. Keeping the world together one unnecessarily informative blog at a time."

"I'll look you up," he said, giving her the shadow of a grin before disappearing down the steps.

She watched him leave, her thoughts a mix of regret and fondness and envy. She chided herself; they had gone through hell after all. She never had and likely never would experience anything of a like difficulty. But still, she couldn't help feeling a bit jealous at what they had, at their family, endangered through it was. Being with Peter had been a way to get close to that, to feel like she might find something akin to it herself one day – maybe even be a part of Peter as she got closer to his life.

Ultimately it hadn't worked out and his feelings had not been the same. Harry, though…

She figured it wouldn't hurt to stay in contact.

OOO

The café that Otto met Dr. Connors in was crowded and they only just managed to grab an empty booth in the back. The ambient noise worked to mask the conversation, however, which made Otto feel slightly more comfortable.

"How are you doing?" Connors lifted his mug of coffee to his lips with his sole arm.

"Well as I ought to be." Otto looked down into his milky tea without drinking. "I still have nightmares sometimes, truth be told. I still find it hard… there's distance. With Rosie, with my children."

Connors nodded. "Otto, we've been friends for a long time."

"Since grad school."

"And I want you to know that you can talk to me."

"A lot of people have said that." Otto looked up. "But with you, I know I can," he added.

"Otto… Otto, I was going through our albums last night. I came across some pictures of the boys that you sent from when they were younger." He drank again, as if trying to forestall the moment. "I apologize. I don't want to… You know, when we first got that picture, something struck me about it but I could never tell what. When I saw it yesterday though…" He took a deep breath, as if to gather his thoughts. "Harry… Harry has a look about him extraordinarily like Emily Osborn's."

Otto felt his mouth grow dry. "When did you meet her?" He whispered.

"A long time ago at a conference. When she was young and in love, enthusiastic about her husband's work and interested in developments in his field. She was a smart one, Otto. And she… she married him."

"This isn't setting me at ease Curtis." He pushed the tea aside. "I don't want to talk about this. About Harry."

"Otto, you know I wouldn't ever say…"

"Please, Curt. You… you have to know how hard this is."

"I didn't quite. But now I have a much better idea." He finished his coffee and reached for the check. "There's a good reason most scientists work in teams. We all need each other, more often than we'd probably like to admit. And I'm here if you need me. If you need to talk about anything you can't say to anybody else."

"I'm not really… Curt, I don't want to talk about this. I _can't._"

"Whenever you do, if ever you do." He took the check. "After all, I know you'd do the same. You're loyal and loving – it's what makes you a good father."

"A good father," he scoffed.

"A good father," Curtis reiterated. "And I hope you can believe that," he said as they began walking down the street. "You know," he began more conversationally, "I got a few new lab assistants. Through an advanced placement high school program. There's this one… bright girl."

"Oh?"

"Name's Gwen. She's brilliant, but a bit, well, lonely to be honest." He looked over at Otto. "Not many other kids her age who can keep up with her."

For the first time that day, Otto smiled. "What might you be suggesting?"

"That it might be good for a couple of troubled kids to have company. Drop by sometime. We have a lot to get caught up on, a lot not relating to – well, all of this."

Otto nodded and parted with his friend at the entrance gates of the campus. "It was good to see you Curt."

"Likewise. We should do more with our families."

"I'll be sure to let Rosie know; I'm sure she'll be quite eager to set something up."

OOO

Hours later, Otto still remained there, until there came a rapping at the door. When Otto answered the knock, he found Peter there, shifting his backpack's weight back and forth across his shoulders.

"Hey dad."

"Peter," he nodded a bit stiffly. "I'm sorry I'm not home yet. Did your mother send you?"

"No… no. I just… I was a bit worried." Peter shrugged. "Been working a bit late."

"I can leave now, if that's what you'd like." He went over to his desk and began gathering papers. "I'm sorry. I… I lose track of the time."

"Yeah, easy to do. Do it all the time when I'm studying." Peter looked out of the window for a moment, then back to his father who was packing. "Look, while I was at school I was thinking about some of the things you told me. Us. About… about the actuators. How it felt when you were using them. So I took a look at the program." He dropped his bag onto the fllor and rummage through it, pulling out a pack of papers. "I was thinking, you know, maybe something like this might help."

Otto looked over the sheets, lines of coding and the diagrams, somewhat amateurish but obvious made with effort. Despite the unpracticed hand which had drawn them, they nevertheless held his interest. He nodded then we back to the coding, looking it over as it mentally imagining how it would work in practice.

"An inhibitor chip?" He looked at his son. "This is very good Peter. It needs work, but it's quite, quite good."

"I've been… well, yeah. I looked up some stuff in the library and I asked around a bit." He took a deep breath. I've been thinking about the machine too. About ways to reinforce it and how to make sure that any reactions would be completely contained."

Gradually, Otto smiled and nodded and together they took a tentative step back on common ground.

"I'd love to hear your ideas. Care to tell me about them on the way home and we can go over these more in my study after dinner?"

Peter returned the smile. "Yeah. I'd like that. Mom and Harry are making vegetable lasagna, I think."

"Best not to keep them waiting, then."

They left together, Peter following at ease in his father's wake.

OOO

When they reached home, they found Rosie arranging daffodils in a cut glass vase for the table while the lasagna baked in the oven. Her head was wrapped up in a colorful silk scarf; the hair had only begun to grow back and she was still a bit shy about the scarring that could be seen beneath the short locks.

"Good to see you boys home." She looked up from the flowers and went to embrace them both. "Harry's in his room," she told Peter and he nodded, leaving her and his father alone.

When he reached the room, Harry was stretched out on the bed, incense burning on the table next to him. His eyes were closed but he nodded the moment Peter stepped into the room.

"Hey Pete."

"Hey Harry."

"Talk to dad?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Peter stretched out and drew in a deep breath. The incense was the same that Harry had burned on a long ago day in Texas, save that now the air that drifted through the window carried a heavier scent of smoke instead of the flowers of their garden, brought in the sounds of the city rather than the sounds of birds. The incense worked to mask it; but nothing could completely eclipse the city.

"Peter…"

"Yeah?"

There was a long silence.

"…nothing."

He paused. "Alright."

And they left it at that as the sun set outside the window.

OOO

A/N: Probably going to leave it there. Unless anybody would like an epilogue. A distant epilogue. Something along the lines of 10 years later. I have an idea for one, but if it seems good as is… that's fine too. :) Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed.


	22. Epilogue: The Octavii

OOO

_This was it. The final moment. It had all come down to this. Gwen clutched Peter's hand and Harry clasped Rosie's shoulders, all four holding their breath and waiting. There were other spectators with them but they seemed to fade into the background. For one terrifying, amazing moment, all they could see was Otto and the arms and the machine. Everything in their lives, everything they'd worked on for the past years had boiled down to the next few minutes and hours, to what was about to happen next. _

_Otto flipped the switch and the machine lit up with a dazzling glow. His arms reached out and inserted the tritium. There was a shimmering pulse as the machine which Otto and Peter and Gwen had labored so long on contained the energy within and converted it for use. _

"_The power of the sun!" Otto gestured and there was applause all around. _

_Perfect. Peter could have cried. It was absolutely perfect. _

OOO

""You have the cigars?" Peter looking into the mirror and fumbled with his cuffs.

"You've asked me that three times already Peter. I do."

"And we're not going to tell Mom about them?"

"I think we can let Dad indulge in his one vice," Harry grinned. "Especially for something like this."

"How do I look?" Peter turned on his heel and spread his arms out to show. "Because I think the bowtie is a bit much. Don't you? I mean, I think it looks rather pretentious, really, and I don't even really know how to properly knot it…"

"_I_ knotted it. Remember? The bowtie looks fine, Pete. You're supposed to wear one with a tuxedo"

"Well what about the vest? Don't you think the buttons clash with the cufflinks? My cufflinks are gold but the buttons are silver and I'm not sure that the …"

"Peter!" Harry laughed. "Relax! The evening will pass without a hitch. I mean, the lecture went fine, didn't it? And you had a lot more to do with that. This, you just walk up, take what they hand you and then sit back and enjoy the ride. Really, I think you need to calm down."

"I can't. This is the biggest night of my life and I'm going to do something to screw it up. I'm going to pass out in front of a reporter or have a massive allergic reaction to the flower arrangements or fall on top of His Majesty or knock Dad or Gwen off the stage."

With a huff, he threw himself down onto the couch that was in the hotel room. On the coffee table in front of it was a much thumbed copy of Times magazine, something Harry had brought to tease Peter. The cover featured Otto dressed in a white suit that recalled a lab coat, sitting in a chair, legs crossed, arms folded and mechanical arms twisting out from behind him with Gwen and Peter standing on either side flanked by the arms. The title beneath it ran 'The Octavii' in a Roman-esque font while the smaller print touted the article inside, asking 'The Next Curie Family?'

Peter flipped the magazine over so he couldn't see it and buried his face in his hands.

"Pete, really. Breathe."

"Where's Gwen?"

"She's still off talking to the kids, making sure they're behaving for Grandpa George," Harry told him.

"I hope so," he groaned. "May's been getting picky about food lately."

"Last I heard there was some disagreement with the twins over bedtime. At least you know they're safely stateside, though, and not running around the streets of Sweden."

"That isn't even funny." Peter glared. "I hope you have kids of your own someday. And speaking of which, since you haven't said anything since we got here, what's up with you and MJ? Are you on again or off again this month?"

"Off," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"What did you do this time?" Peter stood impatiently and went and got a glass of water.

"Nothing! I mean, almost nothing!" He sighed. "We were talking about my career and I said that what I really wanted to do was screen write – that acting and doing makeup were just stopgaps until I got a screen play or a script accepted or something. And she asked why that was and I said because then I could still be in the business but I could work from home in Houston. Then she completely _freaked_ on me, asking me if I thought I was going to drag her all the way out to Texas which apparently, to her, is the equivalent of dragging her into the ninth circle of hell. The whole argument went downhill from there." He sighed. "Really, though, she's the only one who understands… some things. So I suppose we'll get back together eventually. At some point."

"I suppose." Peter looked down into the sink. "Still haven't given up trying to get back to Houston?"

"I will!" Harry's words rang with defiance. "Yeah, I need to be in New York to make connections. But once I'm set, I'm going back there and getting a ranch and half a million horses and a million dogs."

"You never did think of New York as home, did you?"

Harry shrugged. "Home was where you guys were. But did I ever like New York? _Do_ I like it? No, not really." He walked over the Peter and fussed with his collar. "But that's not what tonight is about."

Peter slapped his hands away. "Weren't you the one just telling me to get my mind off of tonight? And why are you messing with my collar? Does it look bad?"

"I'm just keeping my hands busy!" He lifted said hands up defensively. "Don't go crazy! The collar looks fine!"

"I probably can't even fit in this suit right. I mean, don't you think the sleeves are too long?"

"Peter, the tuxedo is tailored Armani. Unless you gained fifty pounds in the last week, there's not a chance it's ill-fitted. Don't worry about the tux."

"What if I get sweat stains under the arms? Maybe I should take the jacket off. Just in case."

"You'll only make wrinkles. You are fine; sit down! Turn on the TV or something."

"Everything's in Swedish!"

"How about this? I'll call room service for a bottle of Merlot and you can take a glass or two to steady yourself."

"Great idea, Harry," he snapped. "Get me drunk before I appear before a huge audience of Nobel Laureates in a ceremony being broadcast across the globe. Or have me spill red wine all over my vest and shirt, that's just what I need."

"Is everything alright in here?" Gwen stepped into the room in a flowing black dress.

"Peter's freaking out," Harry explained nonchalantly. She nodded as if this were only expected.

"Maybe you should take some brandy. There's a lovely bottle of it we received in the other room and you know Father won't touch it."

"Will you two stop?!" He paced over to the window. "I don't need alcohol!"

"Get the brandy," Harry whispered and she nodded a second time.

The blond returned moments later with a bottle in hand and passed it to Harry who poured a small amount into the bottom of a cut glass. As he went to give it to Peter, the cell phone in her handbag rang. Pulling it out, Gwen glanced at the number on the screen and glowered. Her hand hovered for a moment over the button to hang up but, after a third ring, she stepped out into the hall and took the call.

"What?" She snapped. "Well thank you. I'll let them… No! They haven't reconsidered. Is this… wait, how the 'Connors thing went down?'" She said coldly. "That's what you call it? He was my mentor!" She hissed. "No. You leave them alone. They already told you no. Several times. I don't care what you think you know about anything that happened well over a decade ago. If you call again…" Frustrated she snapped the phone shut.

"What was that about?" Otto Octavius leaned out of the hotel room doorway, collar half undone. "Is something wrong?" He pulled on a shimmering vest, buttoning it up as he went.

"Nothing, Papa Otto." She shook her head and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "Only a minor annoyance."

"Stark, wasn't it?" He grimaced into a mirror, finishing buttoning his vest as they walked back into the room.

"Yes," she admitted. "I don't even know how he got this number."

"He's Tony Stark," Otto said by way of explanation. "I take it he was on about that ridiculous initiative of his again."

Gwen nodded. "For you and Peter both. He moved on pretty quickly from congratulating the three of us to pestering me about persuading the two of you, rattling on about your 'responsibility to society' as if you don't already do enough. And if you can believe he had the nerve… He compared what happened to you with Norman Osborn to what he did with Curt."

"I'll never forgive him that. It was unnecessary." His voice was low and strained as he put on the white silk bowtie then folded the shirt collar down.

"That's what I told him." She handed Otto the black jacket off the back of a nearby chair.

"Hello dear!" Rosie stepped out of the bathroom, trying to loop earrings into her ears. "What's the matter?"

"Stark," Otto told her as he shrugged the jacket around his shoulders.

Her face fell. "He isn't here, is he?"

"Unfortunately, I think he is," said Gwen, going into the bathroom to freshen up her lipstick.

"OK, I can't take this anymore." Harry interrupted as he appeared in the doorway, pushing Peter in front of him. "If he keeps this up, one of us is going to have a breakdown. Or a fight. You guys take him."

"Peter, are you nervous?" Rosie came up and gave him a hug.

"Yes!" He smoothed the front of his jacket and tugged on the vest beneath in an agitated fashion. "Do I look alright?"

"Perfectly handsome." Rosie beamed. "I'm very proud of you boys. And you, dear," she said with a nod to Gwen. "After all, behind every good man…"

"Lucky Peter and I have you two, then." Otto pulled on his coat.

"We'd better get going before we're late." Peter fidgeted with the tails of his jacket. "Come on Gwen. We can call a cab."

"Relax Peter. Not like they're going to start the ceremony without you," Harry chuckled as his brother ran out of the door then back in again to grab his own coat.

Gwen shot Rosie a long-suffering look and the older woman gave her a sympathetic smile.

"We'll start heading down," Rosie said to Otto as he helped her into her wool wrap. "It might take a bit to negotiate in these heels."

As Otto went to follow them, Harry grabbed his wrist. "Dad."

"Yes?"

"Here." Harry ran into the other room for a moment and came back with a box that he handed to Otto. "Pete and I got you these. You know. To congratulate you. And while we're at it, Merry Christmas."

Otto lifted up the lid of the box of Pepin Garcias, inhaled and smiled. "My favorites. Thank you, Harry."

"Just don't let Mom find out!" He grinned.

"I'll be sure not to," Otto said with a wink.

Keeping only a rather innocent secret between them, they joined the others in the cold December air as all five stepped out to face the evening.

OOO

A/N: Based off of a line Harry had in Spidey 2 to Ock. Probably wouldn't happen so quickly – there would be more lag time between invention and award – but this is fiction. :) Left a few ambiguous things in there for one-shots if I ever feel like it (even the time could be ambiguous – anywhere from 10 to 15-ish years). And I've also considered a one-shot mindswap crossover thing with Octave!Peter and Comic!Peter, two rather different guys thrown into two very different worlds. Maybe. And I might illustrate some stuff from this fic – if I do it will be in my author profile.

But for now, this is concluded. Hope it was enjoyable. I had a lot of fun writing it and look forward to working on more Spidey stuff.


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